#I knew them for half a fucking year!!!!!!!

[cathnospam]

Deku watched you and Bakugo fucking and haven’t looked at you both the same way since.

Deku KNOWS what sex is, he knows after years of being with other sexually active people and living with other women he has been sexually attracted to, and eventually hormones were bound to take place in everybody in class 3-a and it would be another added topic of discussion after high school graduation.

HE even lost his virginity to Ochako not too long ago.

It was different seeing you both though.

Neither you or Bakugo through out the years seemed interested in anybody, any man that flirted with you, you either brushed them off or completely ignored and Bakugo, despite how pretty he CAN look his attitude usually scare women away, and whether he acknowledges it or not he can be pretty dense so everybody concluded you both aren’t into the dating scene.

It seemed so normal between you both until last night.

When he seen Bakugo in between your thighs.

HE DIDNT MEAN TO WATCH HE SWEARS, but he went to look for his notebook he left in your dorm after a study session and heard your door unlock with Bakugo’s loud mouth ass grumbling for you to hurry up.

Out of panic he fled to your closet and hid there, he doesn’t know why he did, he wasn’t snooping or doing anything wrong, plus bakugo and you trust him enough to freely walk into their dorms, but too late he’s stuck now.

“You’re so needy. And stop poking me with that thing—ah-“

“Mmhm. Shut up.” Bakugo grumbles into your neck, from behind, practically pushing you inside with each thrust of his dick. “Y’pissed me off today.”

“Don’t I always—-AAAOWW—MMHPH!”

Your smart remarks get muffled with a harsh hot smack to the ass and a kiss, it definitely sounded like it hurt to Deku, but he watched in shock seeing him caress your ass under your skirt.

His green eyes grew twice its size, Bakugo had lifted off your shirt, and began his attack on your neck and cheek while he undid his belt with one hand, “Fuck you smell good.”

Throwing off his black tank top and laying you on the bed, “You taste even better though.”

The mixed sounds of your giggles and moans as his lips puncture your skin from your neck down to your tits to suckle on made Deku reluctantly twist his legs,

He was getting hard.

He never viewed you in this way, yes, you were a beautiful woman, but after knowing you since middle school his crushes towards you have came and gone eventually developing into a brother and sister relationship.

….but it may change now.

“Oh ‘Suki~” You sigh softly, tilting your head to the side to get a good look at your nasty Blondie. His nose resting atop of your pussy as his lips were wrapped around your tiny clit, you felt the ministration of the back and forth suckles which made your jaw slack.

Deku looked away reluctantly, covering his eyes feeling some guilt. This was a private matter between you both, even if it was a shock he still felt like he was intruding. And boy he tried.

He tried so hard to just keep his eyes closed until you both were finished, but the noises you made not only drove Bakugo insane , but him as well.

“Mmhm.” Katsuki groaned in content inside you, hearing your voice get higher and your breaths get more ragged he knew you were close ,”Mmhm that’s it. That’s it baby c’mon—“

“BABY?!”

Deku thought this was insane to hear, never have he EVER heard Mr. Hardass to ever speak…so sweetly to you?

His big green eyes peaked through the closet door shades , covering his mouth as he almost gasped seeing Bakugo press your thighs back to eat you further, “Fuck…”

Bakugo couldn’t ignore his hard on for long.

And neither could Deku.

“I love your moutthhhhh.” You half moaned half giggled feeling yourself grow closer while your back was arching. Bakugo’s pride always was sky high when he fucked you. And somehow you saying that made Deku….jealous? Just a little, but he couldn’t focus on that too long.

You looked so sexy when you’re cumming, your little cute fingers playing with your nipples. The way you hips buck into Bakugo’s mouth, how soft and whiney your voice gets when you’re crying his name.

Next thing you know Deku’s hands were palming his growing errection.

Nononono he can’t. He can’t get off to his best friends, it’s ….dirty. Bakugo would kill him and you might feel disgusted with him.

But Deku’s mind wasn’t in tandem with his body because his hand was already inside his pants.

“Ssssshit girl I didn’t tell you—-“

“Don’t care.” You words muffled as you lay on your stomach between his thighs, capturing his tip between your lips to suck on . You giggle and moan when you feel a warm hand slap against your ass.

The way how you nearly could take him all in was such a turn on to Deku. You’re the same girl that was just choking on a noodle earlier today at lunch, but now you’re taking in Bakugo’s dick like a champ.

“Fuck…” Deku couldn’t help it his fingers teased his own tip, precum already enough to lube his shaft while he matches the pace of your bobbing head.

Your boyfriend began to massage your ass a little, groaning your name in frustration because he was already so close to cumming, “You and that fucking tongue…”

The green haired boy was also close, watching you made him wish it was him instead of his own best friend you were sucking off.

How many times have you done this with him? Was it yesterday when you both left class? Was it those times you both went to bed early? Deku kept rethinking all those times you both were alone and it was nearly too much he almost took away his own orgasm, so he pumped his dick faster to the view of Bakugo’s fingers slipping inside your soaked cunt.

Who wouldn’t thought he’d be spending his evening cumming with his best friends.

You and Bakugo were spent. It wasn’t unusual, being pro hero’s in training a night of just oral would sometimes just be enough.

That wasn’t enough for Deku thought he though,

“No no no don’t go to sleep!”

He watched as you and your boyfriend cuddled naked on top of the covers, breathing still heavy, his big hands grabbed your chin so you can turn and face him to taste yourself on his tongue.

“‘Suki…” you breathed feeling him lift your thigh over his legs, he didn’t even have to move that much to already his dick press against your clit.

“Sssh sssh shhh. Just lay down and take it okay? I got you.” His breathing was heavy, though he was exhausted he just couldn’t stop here and he knew you were too so he didn’t mind fucking you while you were half sleep and on your side.

And luckily, Deku had a front view of it, your pussy spreading from the size of his dick, you were doing so good taking him in.

He started to stroke himself again, he was still so sensitive from just cumming, he couldn’t stop though your voice was so fucking attractive all on its own, “S’goooddd~”

Despite the deep long strokes, your boyfriend was so gentle with making sure he wasn’t too rough, leaving you more sore than you already were in the morning. He nibbled and sucked on your neck, he tried so hard not to moan, he hated how he sounded when he did, but the way your soft fat ass kept bouncing on his pelvis he couldn’t help it and it made you clench harder.

“Just like that baby just cum all on me…there you go..fuck—“

This was just too lewd, but at this point your little best friend didn’t care, he was gnawing on his lips, eyes focused on the sight of your pussy and your eyes rolling back while your boyfriend was in your ear talking oh so dirty to you about your body, your pussy, your moaning. It didn’t take long until you felt that familiar knot.

“Oh shit shit shit shit!” Deku thought, he was close too but he knew it was ganna be messier this time, but he couldn’t stop himself he wanted to cum too right there with you both.

Bakugo’s thrust got sloppier and shallow, catching his own orgasm to join you (and Deku). He covered your mouth with his free hand because you usually get loud when you cum on his cock. But fuck that he kissed you instead to swallow your moans.

Grinding inside you, all three of you came. It was honestly the best and scariest orgasm Deku’s ever had with just his hand. Best from his front row seat view, scariest because he was afraid Bakugo heard you moan your name from the closet.

He swore he did from when he looked up in that direction while you were still on cloud 9, but maybe that was just his imagination.

Maybe.

You both were finally asleep. You laid on top of him, buried in his neck, and Blondie facing the window holding you tight, Deku decided to make it his mission to quietly leave.

There are many secrets Izuku had to keep in his life, but this was one he knew he had to keep for the sake of KEEEPING HIS LIFE.

But it didn’t stop the new view he had towards you both.

Who would’ve thought you both were his new Jack off material.

[partiallysame]

How do you think the boys would act when Price's lil wife goes fun places? Like are they gonna freak out that the lifeguard looks at her in her bikini when they're at a water park?

You know I was just thinking the same thing

The first time you realized they were gonna be possessive was when they came over for dinner one night and you were wearing a cute lil hand made bracelet with a G on it. Kyle oh so excited to boast he must’ve been your favorite. G for Garrick right? No. Price came bursting his bubble stating “s’from her boyfriend Gerald” what the fuck kind of name is Gerald “met him at the rec center where she works out”. All three men were vibrating with jealousy. Were they not enough, you needed another one. Two days later they show up to the rec center and you come out of the bathroom to see the 3 soldiers pinning Gerald (a 10 year old boy who had a crush on you) to the wall, Kyle may or may not have had a knife in his hand. After that they each had their own weapon bowl by the door. You making them take out everything and put it in their personal bowl before leaving the house. The first couple times you patted them down to make sure. Johnny sure did like this part until you found a knife strapped to his ankle and he was banished to the middle backseat of the car for 3 weeks.

The second time was when you all went to the beach. Your body ody ody bangin in your bikini. Simon stayed fully clothed in all black “what are you wearing Si? “Swimsuit” no those are tac pants. You oblivious to all the stares you were getting until all of a sudden Simon was on top of the lifeguard tower. How the hell did he get up there? The lifeguard was wondering the same question when the giant man in black showed up 10ft in the air behind him “keep your eyes on the water. Not my wife”.

The third time was when you went out for girls night. Tight dress in which you had to pry 4 sets of hands off of you to be able to leave the house. “We can drive you” no being drunk in the Uber is half the fun. The moment you left the house so did they. Full stealth mode. Following you from bar to bar to make sure you were safe and no creepy beady eyes found you. The first few guys to approach you were never there for a few seconds before accepting your decline to dance “ya you better be respectful dipshit” although each man was clenching their fist watching men ogle you (just like they did when they met you). But then one guy wasn’t taking no for an answer. You felt a tap on your shoulder (Kyle) but turned to see no one there. When you turned back the drunk man was gone oh well. Was he face down in the concrete outside after being pulled out of the bar in a chokehold? Yes. End of the night you called John to come get you (he knew you would you always did but he def didn’t tell the boys that) so while you got in the car all giddy, Price waved to the boys who were standing on the sidewalk still outside the bar scrambling to get back to the car and home to cutesy drunk you.

[k0ff1n]

Were there always 𝘵𝘸𝘰 beasts of deceit?

☆.A list of general headcanons about an au where the witches decided to divide the knowledge in two. Can also be read as: i hate that everyone thinks that Shadow Milk basically kidnaps people instead of being able to love someone and actually be understood :D

☆. This was originally meant to be an au with my oc but I tried to keep the personality for the reader as neautral as possible, no gender or anything specified because if I see that I'm supposed to have long blonde hair one more time I'm gonna kms. 　　

☆. Isn't really nsfw but there is a "suggestive" part, like they don't fuck but it's implicit so before someone comes for my head I WARNED YOU. Anyway I hope you enjoy it :}.

☆. Also english isn't my first language so I'm genuinely sorry if there are any mistakes :/.

-First of all I prefer to think that you didn't meet Shadow Milk after he became the beast of deceit. To have someone understand him in such a deep way it's only possible if you were there since the origin of everything, even his. It's not impossible to imagine how heavy all the knowledge is to bear so it would make sense if the witches decided to divide it in 𝘵𝘸𝘰, no?

-Not everyone knows that it wasn't one being that held all the knowledge in their head but two similar cookies, always together since the start and unable to physically stay away from each other for a long amount of time. It wasn't far fetched to say that after the creation of the academy people considered you to be his shadow and him yours. There wasn't one moment where you two could be found more than ten meters apart and the reason was kind of obvious, even if not to many people. You were each other's half without wanting it to be, if knowledge started with him the only possible outcome was for it to finish with you.

-As much as the weight of knowing literally 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 held the both of you from forming meaningful relationships with other cookies (ignoring the beasts obviously) it didn't mean that you became hermits and went away from society, especially since your role was to spread information and teach others. It was after years and years of having to face thousands of different cookies everyday and try to help them with the infinity of informations you had that it became more of a burden to you.

-If years ago others seemed happy to know every kind of possible thing in Crispia, now it felt as if you were being rude by telling them those truths. Needless to say that having someone able to understand perfectly helped the both of you overcome those moments and push forward. And even if things made you tired it was always okay because you knew that he would have always been there to comfort you and vice versa.

-But the situation changed. It changed that one faithful day when the witches you held so dear to your hearts told you that it wasn't enough, that even if all the cookies preferred 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘵 you couldn't agree with them and ignore it because only they could and not 𝘺𝘰𝘶, not the perfect duo they created to spread 𝘵𝘩𝘦 word. From that point on it only went downhill, the two of you agreed that it wasn't 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳, it wasn't 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 that only you had to suffer because of those rules and standards while the others could live happily and in ignorance.

-It took some time for the other beasts to start noticing how unfair life was to them too and one by one they fell, the only ones you could think of as friends being held back by forks and chains while you had to pretend that your life was happy. After that everything changed, the knowledge and truth you were supposed to spread became the base for misinformation and lies, those very things the other cookies liked some much became your routine until at some point the witches stopped you, they did what you saw years before being done to your closest friends only now you were being both sealed away in some damn tree for what you thought would have been the rest of eternity.

-Shadow Milk and you weren't the fountain of knowledge anymore, to them at least, but all those things didn't vanish from your minds, all the informations, lies and painful memories were still in your heads like a sea during a storm, unable to stop and become peaceful like it once was. Conversations with the other beasts became rare over time, their rage towards the witches making them unable to care about a conversation with you. It was at that point in your lives that you really understood how important you were to each other, obviously you knew it already but now that it was nothing but you two it became palpable how your souls were interviewed and literally unable to be pulled apart. If the witches thought it a good idea to create two of you it was probably their biggest regret now.

———————

-It was after 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 that the damn tree opened and you realized that you didn't have your full power anymore. As if being imprisoned for a millenia wasn't enough they had to strip you of your soul jam and give it to some 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘥, like he had the right to use it while you two were left to your own demise. Anger, resentment and sadness were the only feelings that your hearts could feel for far too much time and after 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 who it was that stole your power they only heightened, now unable to really understand how was it 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 that everything that made you two who you were in the past was now held away from you while your mere existence was considered a crime.

-The only luck on your side was the one that made you have enough power to escape the situation and find refuge in what was years before known as the spire of knowledge, now a place full of dust and old memories that could once again be considered your home. It's probably thanks to that too that you were, even if only a little, able to partially calm down and concentrate on the situation at hand and how to face those 𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 and regain your power back.

———————

-As for the relationship I'd say that the start was probably the hardest part, but only like the first few days because after those it felt as if you were literally made for each other (lol you were). The type of relationship and friendship where you two are able to talk about everything, and in your case literally 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, from how the universe was made to why some rats look better when they become taxidermy than when they were alive.

-Your life was a constant presence in his and the same was for you, it should feel bad to always be around someone but with him it was as if everything around you was still and the only moving things were the two of you. Needless to say that in the years at the academy you couldn't really show affection to each other because of the list of students always surrounding you two to ask things regarding previous lessons, and even if you two lived together the time was mostly spent working to improve lives and not to really live yours.

-All this started to change when you opted for the lies and deceit road, now able to talk to each other for more than ten minutes at a time and to maybe sleep at least six hours. This obviously meant that your lives were spent differently, you didn't have to care about others too much so it came natural to care about each other even more than before. Now it wasn't a problem if you two were found kissing each other before a lesson and if someone dared to say something bad about it they would 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 have no one to talk to the next day. Totally not because one some rumor that started spreading about them, oh no no, you misunderstand really it was only his fault that made the situatuon escalate like that and so quickly.

-Needless to say that over time people noticed a pattern and opted for staying away from you, not that you minded obviously, it only meant that you two would have finally been able to start living like a normal couple and not like the embodiments of all knowledge. By this I mean that general affection became routine, cooking together every morning was now the norm and things like spending time reading on the couch or watching a movie could finally be considered normal days and not like some kind of taboo.

-The almost non existent 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 moments that for a long time were almost nothing more than an escape from the harsh reality out there were now finally moments of pleasure between two lovers. The attraction you felt for each other now had the time to be expressed and the shame you almost felt in the past seemed to never have existed in the first place.

-Obviously all of this came to an halt when the tree took all you beasts in 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 and it's kind of obviously to say that when it spat you out the first thing you did when arriving at the spire wasn't dusting the shelves and sweeping the floors.

-Now your life could begin again, even if the anger you both felt towards Pure Vanilla was the prime subject of your discussions that doesn't mean that your life as a couple magically ended. It was after some time that other cookies decided to work for you, the first one was obviously Black Sapphire and after some time Candy Apple joined too. As much as it seemed strange at first to have other people living with you, even if not in the same section of the spire, they grew on you both after some time, not that they could be considered your kids but when you started helping the younger one with choosing the hairstyles she preferred for the day and which dress fit her better it did start to feel as if you were some kind of family. As dysfunctional as it could be obviously, but a family nonetheless.

-After the years spent in the tree the clingy side of him started shining through, not that you minded but it sure was way different than the past. It wasn't as if your personal space stopped to exist since you both were always together but a thousand years ago he probably would have never opted for walking with a hand around your waist or literally making out in public, be it in front of servants or cookies like Gingerbrave and his friends. Speaking of that: the expressions on their faces when they first entered the Spire and saw that Shadow Milk wasn't alone but with someone literally sitting on his lap was priceless. What followed was them shouting at him to free you of whatever kind of brainwashing technique he used, only to have you kissing him and showing them your wedding band as an answer. After that they looked more confused than before but it surely wasn't your problem.

-It took some time for you to get used to his way of talking with the others, you too obviously changed and had to craft a mask to show the others and protect your real self but the difference between when he talked with you and when he interacted with other cookies always managed to leave you speechless. After years it became routine and even kind of funny to listen to him talk in such an exaggerated way, only to ask him something and listen to him change his voice completely to the one you always knew.

-Well needless to say that people can believe that the perfect couple doesn't exist but we all know that the world is indeed full of lies, is it not?

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe cameron x sweet virgin!reader

she told you she celibate but she told me I can nail her shit

cw: mdni 18+, virgin!reader but has some other experience, lowkey a freak tho, toxic rafe, corruption kink : >, size kink, first times, rafe goes a lil crazy, sweetie pie reader x insane yandere bf rafe is lowkey my favorite trope

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves <3 i didn’t read this over and i’m so sorry if there’s hella mistakes i will fix it later! this may or not be self-insert yes even that part

the trouble all began with sarah cameron and her big mouth. well really both of you were to blame, but you’d think she would be quieter when her older brother was lurking around. you were older than her by a few years, closer to his age than hers, not that it mattered though, rafe treated you like you were practically wheezie’s age. you didn’t let it sting you any more you had long gotten over trying to be seen as a woman in rafe cameron’s eyes. or maybe you just stopped watching him, he’s always noticed you but you felt out reach, until now. when he overhears his sister’s words he almost breaks the glass of water he’s holding.

“a virgin at 19 looking like you do is insane” sarah looked you up and down as you tried on the dress you’d bought together at the mall. you got shy at her words, you knew she wasn’t judging you but instead genuinely in disbelief that men weren’t throwing themselves at you. you had long mastered the art of looking unapproachable and uninterested after too many bad experiences.

“stoppp is it so hard to believe, you know how bad it’s been for me?” he really hopes no one sees him leaning against the wall next to his sister’s door, he’d look like such a weirdo. wheezie would never let him live this down, she’d barely held back on letting his little crush slip before. if sarah ever found out he’d be in another hell.

“fuck you’re right, if they can’t make you come what’s the point?” rafe winced at his sister’s words, willing away the temptation to gag. he was trying to focus on the fact that no guy had made you come before instead.

“you’re awful, but i’m done with men for a long time. im gonna focus on college and not waste time on them.” he relished in the twisted feeling that no one could touch you, even if the losers before had a chance they clearly couldn’t cut it.

“righttt being in a dorm filled with horny guys is gonna make that easier.” sarah deadpanned and you shoved her, seeing her point. you hadn’t thought about it like that.

“okay leave me alone i’ve been successful so far”

“oh my god speak of the devil, john b’s calling me over, can you cover for me? i’ll be back in like two hours max, promise.” you were a little disappointed she was leaving you but you knew how difficult it was for her to see him without someone covering for her. you nodded and pulled out your phone.

“fine but i’m ordering pizza,” rafe didn’t know if he should be terrified or elated that you two would be home alone for two hours. why did it have to be today that the rest of his family fucked off? was this divine intervention?

“save me a slice!” rafe could hear his sister rustling around, getting ready to go, so he did the same.

“you’re gonna be too busy eating di-“ rafe promptly ran off at that. he’d heard enough, his imagination would run wild with this new information.

it was half an hour later when, like clockwork, rafe made sure to be near the front door for the pizza delivery. he paid and tipped the guy, while you were making your way down at the sound of the doorbell. he hurries back upstairs, nearly running into you on the stairs. your eyes trace his pretty features and then land on the box in his hands, shock and horror cascading your face. rafe can’t believe that you look so good even now, you’re wearing a crop top with seemingly no bra underneath and high waisted sweatpants. to him you look like a model.

“hey! that’s my pizza” rafe laughs and continues up the stairs, you turn on your heel and follow him up. you’re kinda hangry and your pizza being held hostage is not helping your mood.

“i just paid for it so i don’t think so.” you both reach the top of the stairs but rafe isn’t stopping, he’s going to his room instead. this won’t do, he’ll lock the door and slam it in your face, you quickly move to stand in front of him blocking the path to his doorway. rafe thinks it’s cute that you think that would stop him, he feels a bit stir crazy over how small you look gazing up at him

“i’ll pay you back!” your hands shoot up against the doorframe, blocking entry even further. he wants to tease you a bit more but the idea of sharing a pizza in his room is way more tempting.

“nah it’s fine just let me have some.” you release your blockade and let him move past you, still with his-your pizza in his hold, following him mindlessly. if you were less hungry you would’ve realized eating pizza with your longtime crush and best friend’s brother in his room sitting on his bed was in fact not a great idea. but that fleeting concern is out the window when he opens the box and you climb onto his bed like it’s second nature. rafe does his best to stay concentrated on the present, it’s difficult when your shirt rides up and a sliver of your stomach is displayed, it looks so soft and untouched and he really isn’t hungry for pizza, he never was.

“i was gonna offer anyways for the record.” you say it while picking up a slice and rafe mirrors your action, laughing at your tone.

“yeah sure you were princess,” you ignore the way his voice sounds, the way he says your name, the way his room smells like him and it’s making your head spin.

rafe watches you eat transfixed when you lick the tips of your fingers, he can’t believe that he’s struggling to control himself over pizza but your words are ringing in his head.

“rafe do you have any napkins?” you hold up your greasy fingers and he nods his head dazedly, getting up to grab some for you and taking the pizza box off his bed with him. you move to get off then, looking around his room, you knew he wouldn’t appreciate if you snooped through his things so you just look at the pictures on the wall, the books he has. rafe finds you standing near his desk when he comes back, wordlessly handing you the napkins.

“i always forget you have a motorcycle.” your head motions towards the helmet resting on the surface of his desk.

“i don’t use it as much now.” he leaned back against the footboard of his bed, arms crossed against his chest as he watched you look at his stuff. he couldn’t figure out why you were still in his room, were you that curious?

“can i ride it? i’ve always wanted to try.” yeah rafe might just pass out now. you don’t even know what you’re doing to him, head cocked to the side looking at him so innocently he can barely hold back much longer.

“sure but i gotta teach you the basics so you don’t crash.” rafe is proud of himself for even stringing a sentence together in response. you notice a slight flush to his cheeks and ears.

“okay that’s fair.” you turn towards him, mirroring his form and leaning back against his desk. there’s a few feet between you but rafe thinks it would be so easy to lift you onto the mahogany and kiss you until you can’t breathe. his shorts feel so restrictive and he’s grateful he’s wearing black. he can’t hold back any longer, he has to know.

"is it true?" the words come out rushed, unsure of if they should even be said in the first place. but rafe’s not a quitter and he doesn’t shy away from anything really, even if the past few hours feel like a dream he would have in middle school.

"is what true?" your head does that thing again like a puppy and he nearly keels over, you’re too adorable for your own good. his gaze flits away for a second, he has to commit. your trusting expression and your airy tone make it all the more hard.

"no guy's made you come before?" you blink in shock twice before covering your face with your hands. this must be the most embarrassing moment of your life.

"ugh you heard that?"

"yeah you guys aren't exactly quiet" you might have to kill sarah cameron in her sleep, if she even comes back that is. you don’t know why you answer him, you could have just ran away but the magnetic pull of rafe cameron coaxes you to answer.

"yeah it's true" you sound defeated and rafe has to hold back a snicker, he watches you peer through your fingers at him, watching his expression.

"well i can rectify that..you know for the sake of mankind and all" there’s a smirk on his lips as he says the words that will haunt you forever. you’re sure he’s just messing with you and you huff a breath of disbelief. did he know about your little crush? you’d been hiding it so well for the past few years!

"don't tease me, rafe" you step away from his desk, moving to leave his room. even if it was just the two of you in the house you’d much rather sit in sarah’s room or watch the tv than be ridiculed.

"i'm not, it'd be a shame if a pretty girl like you gave up on men, especially for me." it’s almost as if someone dumped a bucket of cold water on your head when rafe cameron speaks. pretty girl the first time he’s called you anything that might suggest you’re not just his sister’s friend. the world spins on its axis and you try to grasp onto his words, try to understand that he might be genuine but you can’t. there’s still that voice of doubt telling you he’s just messing with you. rafe watches your expression go from shock to disappointment, you don’t believe him. he supposes it’s not that believable when he’s been purposefully avoiding you for a while. you must think he’s just messing with you, but he’s dead serious. he’ll just have to prove it.

“whatever rafe i don’t have time for your games.” you mumble it and leave his room, slamming the door a bit harder than you intended. the next few hours are torture. rafe cameron planted an insidious weed in your mind and it’s growing exponentially.

of course it’s not the first time you’ve imagined it, you’d often thought about what his long thick fingers would feel like. or how his biceps would feel under your hands if you held onto them for support. you’d fantasized about every part of him, even the tip of his nose. so the idea that it might just be within your reach had you spiraling. you took a cold shower, not that it helped, your underwear was still soaked after. no guy you’d been with had made you so wet, let alone before even touching you. it was as if the universe was testing you. a sick thrum in your body had found its way into your bones, vibrating with need and you paced in your best friend’s room thinking over all the consequences.

when you’d reached the conclusion that even if he was sincere it was still a bad idea, your phone pinged. a text from sarah that read: “i’m gonna be staying the night here, if you’re already asleep i’ll see you in the morning 🤍” with all your internal turmoil you hadn’t realized it was past the two hours she’d said. she would be out all night. you and rafe were home alone, all night. you swallowed down the lump in your throat, your heart pounding your chest. your feet were moving faster than your head, the pitter patter of your footsteps almost as fast as your heartbeat, and before you knew it you were in front of his door. you hesitated for a second breathing in deep once before knocking, the light was still on so you knew he was awake.

“yeah?” rafe did his best to hide the satisfaction he felt seeing you twitchy and shy in front of his door. you swallowed down again, looking up at him with as much confidence as you could. there was a few seconds of silence, he gave you the time you needed, looking down at you with bright inviting eyes.

“is your offer still on the table?” his face split into a grin, moving aside to let you in like you’d done before and with no hesitation you pushed past him. even the small graze of your shoulder against him set his skin ablaze. he was going to lose his mind.

“‘doesn’t really have an expiration date.” your mind was blanking at his every advance, you tried not to think about his words, you couldn’t afford to fall deeper for him.

“just don’t like tell anyone about this?” you murmured, watching him close the door behind you two and getting a bit nervous. if sarah found out you’d be in for hell. losing your virginity to your best friend’s brother wasn’t exactly a great conversation to have.

“i’m not topper don’t worry.” you believed him, rafe despite his other faults, was always respectful.

“can i kiss you?” you nodded fervently, rafe held back a laugh at your enthusiasm. he walked up to you slowly as if giving you the chance to run and slid his hands from his hips to the curve of your waist. you stood on your tiptoes, your arms going around his neck and rafe couldn’t believe this was real. maybe if he pretended it was a dream he wouldn’t be so nervous. he’d have to do just that. one of his hands cupped your face, thumb stroking along your cheekbone and your eyelashes fluttered closed at the touch. he pressed a tentative kiss to your lips.

his lips felt soft and you breathed out in relief after, as if some sort of spell was lifted. rafe kissed you again, this time letting himself breathe you in. you felt so small and delicate in his hold, he wanted to take his time with you. you had other ideas. kissing rafe cameron felt even better than you’d imagined, when he pulled back you surged forward this time, biting his lower lip making him groan into your mouth. another chill of desire wracked your body at the sound and you tested the waters by licking the seem of his lips. rafe pulled you even closer and bent down to kiss you deeper. his mouth opened and his tongue met yours. you tasted so good to him he couldn’t stop himself from sucking on your tongue slightly, making you whine in his hold. the sound flipped a switch in his mind, he wanted more of the sound, he needed to hear you say his name in that airy desperate sound again. a string of saliva connected your lips and snapped off in the middle, your breathing was heavy and his was too. you caught your breath all the while looking up at him, he held your gaze transfixed. the furrow of your brows grew deeper the longer you looked.

“we don’t have to do anything else.” him asking for consent again drew in another crushing wave of arousal, you were a lost cause. okay maybe your standards were in hell. even his cologne was better than any other guy, something woodsy and heavy, mature, not like the shitty ones you’d had to smell before.

“no-no i want to,” he’d have to ask you later why you looked so mad after kissing him, right now he had too much else to do. you could only watch as he lifted you by the grip on your waist, your legs going around his hips in fear of falling. he’d done it so casually you couldn’t process it in time. rafe set you down gently on his mattress, his weight pressed into you and your legs tightened around him. he kissed you again, already missing the taste of your lips, and leaned back. you realized what he was about to do as he sat back on his knees.

“no i-can you just come up here?” you felt far too shy for him to eat you out and although rafe respected your wishes he was a bit disappointed. he’d just have to make sure there was a next time. there were other ways to taste you anyways. he followed your lead, leaning back over you and kissing you again, tongue and teeth clashing together in need. one of his hands moved from your waist up and under the hem of your shirt, traveling up slowly until he reached the fat of your breast. the feeling of his fingers on your nipple jolted your body. usually you didn’t get anything out of a guy touching your boobs but him you were arching into his touch, huffing into his mouth. rafe loved how sensitive you were, reacting to every touch of his. he massaged the tit in his hand, reveling in how you squirmed underneath him. if you kept moving you’d feel how painfully hard he was in his shorts.

after giving up on kissing you he peeled off your crop top, trailing kisses down your neck. he bit at the skin and sucked, surely littering your neck with hickies. you smelled so sweet to him and he couldn’t get enough, biting hard in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. you squeaked at the feeling, shocked at how pleasure blurred the lines of the pain you should be feeling. being marked by rafe was transcendental.

“look at you, so fucking pretty.” you met his gaze, his eyes raking down your chest and back to your face. the compliment made your head even cloudier, you’d let him do anything he wanted already, and it didn’t even scare you. his mouth trailed lower, biting at the tops of your breasts before latching onto your nipple and sucking, biting and laving over the sensitive nub with his tongue. you writhed under him, desperate for some friction between your legs. you huffed out a breath in frustration. he took his time bruising your chest with his marks. everyone should know who you belonged to. he leaned back to admire his work, his eyes finally meeting yours and seeing your waterline filled with unshed tears. god he was being so cruel, you just wanted to come and here he was doing as he pleased.

“rafe can i have you fingers please?” he was about to take pity on you anyway but the desperate sound of you begging was too delicious to give up. he looped his fingers through yours, hands intertwined against the silk sheets next to your shoulder.

“fuuckkk when you ask like that how can i say no?” his eyes nearly rolled back in his head from your voice, he might just come from it alone. “how d���ya want them?” he knew, of course he knew, he just wanted to hear you say it. your lips were swollen from his kisses and you still managed to look so innocent under him, he wanted to mark every inch of your body so no one could touch you again.

“you know!” you huffed out, a pout on your lips that he kissed away, you still looked at him with frustration. your underwear was practically sticking to you now, you felt so warm and uncomfortable between your legs, desperate for friction. you’d never felt like this before, completely wrecked with need, unable to think about anything besides addressing your desire.

“spell it out for me, i can’t think clearly right now.” he kissed under your ear coaxing you into submission, a purr curled through you at the feeling. his lips were featherlight against you, soft and adoring and you couldn’t remember why you were holding back.

“‘wan you to fuck me with them.” it was a small mumble, slipping past your lips but rafe caught it nevertheless. his free hand hooked into your pants and pulled them down, you kicked them off and let him settle back between your legs. at least being out of your pants gave your legs some reprieve but the cool air only illuminated how drenched your underwear was. rafe’s large hand skimmed past your breasts to your stomach and rested against your waistband. he looked to you for admission and you nodded your head. instead of dipping underneath the band he trailed downwards, over the flimsy material. the ghost of his touch near your clit had you jerking under him, your hands flying to his shoulders. two large fingers pressed against the fabric, right above your opening, his fingers felt moist and he clicked his tongue at the feeling.

“baby you soaked through your panties, whose got you so worked up?” you whined, a pretty throaty sound that you’d been holding in and he vowed to pull more from you. his fingers were skimming along your opening, teasing the fabric and not quite touching you. your legs wanted to close on his hand but your hips moved closer, trying to make him touch you.

“you!” you screamed out, eyes squeezed shut as he removed his hand completely. you’d start leaking through them if he didn’t do something soon.

“that’s right me, not those fucking losers, just me.” his free hand, closed around your chin making you open your eyes and meet his. he looked crazed, pupils blown and overshadowing the blue with hooded eyes and a satisfied grin curling his lips. when you met his gaze he finally dipped his fingers beneath the band and pressed his thumb against your clit. he found it with such ease your eyes rolled back into your skull, gasping at the feeling of finally being touched. “i got you baby,” your legs spread wider for him, pulling him into you as his fingers slid through your drooling folds all the while his thumb ground against you. his fingers were so much larger than yours you could feel him everywhere. he prodded your hole with his index finger, grunting at how tight you were. streams of arousal kept pouring out of you, you needed him to do something. you squirmed under him again and rafe acquiesced, shoving his finger in. you were so tight and warm around him, slippery and soft walls hugged him as he stretched you out with one finger alone. “f-fucking tight,” he was gonna start soiling his shorts from the way you felt around his finger alone. he fucked you slow and deep, feeling along your insides for your sensitivity. he knew as soon as he found it because you screamed his name, hands clutching his arms tightly.

“feels weird,” he let you get used to the feeling, his thumb grinding against your clit. you were already feeling close and he’d barely started.

“poor pussy probably never felt this good huh?” you whimpered at his words, he was being so filthy and usually it turned you off. nothing about rafe could do that at this point. you shook your head, affirming his suspicions and his middle finger circled your opening. he was gentler this time, moving his fingers in inch by inch until you stopped clamping down. the pressure of him stretching you wasn’t unbearable but you didn’t know how you’d ever take more than his fingers at this rate. he accurately hammered against that spot, out for blood, while his thumb circled your clit. you were dripping onto his hand, coating him with your juices and the squelch of his fingers fucking into you filled the room. the sounds were so obscene you tried blocking them out with your pathetic little whines but rafe was determined to hear your soppy cunt crying for him. it wasn’t long before you felt the encroaching of your release and he knew it he could feel it in the way you clenched around him and whined when his fingers pulled out completely. one more carress of the sensitive gummy spot inside you had you seeing white. your vision blurred as you shook in your release, holding his wrist so he’d stop his motions, shivers wracked your body as you came the hardest you ever had. your walls fluttered around him, more of your release dripping down your cunt and soaking the sheets below. he was sick enough to leave them like that for the night, you smelled so sweet and he bet you tasted even better.

his fingers dipped out of your underwear and your eyes opened to watch him, probably a mistake on your part because just the vision of rafe cameron licking his fingers clean and groaning at the taste made you ready to go again. his eyes rolled back in his head at the taste, his eyes ground shut at the sugary flavor coating his tongue and teeth. he really hoped you’d let him have more later because now that he’d had a taste he wanted the full meal. you shivered at the way he reacted, your whole body on high alert from your orgasm, but even as sensitive as you were you couldn’t help but be greedy.

“rafe, can we go further?” his heart might just give out, you look nervous even now after he’s already addicted. he moves back slightly, pulling his shirt over his head and your eyes are drawn to his chest.

“never thought you’d ask.” you’re not even trying to hide how you ogle him, seeing him at the beach is one thing but in front of you, when you can touch him is another. rafe watches you reach a hand out, slightly out of range and moves closer to you, letting you touch him. your smalls hands traverse the expanse of his shoulders, his pecs, and trace the outline of his abs. when they reach the tuft of hair above his waistband, rafe has to stop you. the tiny fleeting touches make him twitch in his pants. he moves your hand to rest against his shoulder, pulling your underwear all the way off and looking down at how he completely drowns your body out.

“fuckkk can’t believe im the lucky one who gets to break this little pussy in,” he kisses along your neck, hands squeezing your waist and marveling at how diminutive you feel. he can’t wait to be inside you, he wonders if you’ll even be able to take him.

“s-so dirty” his words are heating up your entire body and you’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t arching into him. rafe moves to pull down his shorts, waiting a beat before he does.

“you sure you want this?” while taking your virginity was something he could only dream about before he needed to be sure.

“yes i want it to be you, i trust you.” you say it as normally as you can.

“we can stop whenever you want, like i said ‘offer’s not gonna expire.” you hope you can take it up even after this, maybe not even once or twice. if he could make you feel like this why would you need anyone else? then he goons his shorts off and you were starting to regret your decision.

“oh-is th-that gonna fit?” his cock sprung out and slapped against his stomach, long and thick and way too big for you. you could barely take his fingers this would never fit. it looked so angry white precum dribbling down stark against the flushed pink curling along the veins and curving with him to the right. you wouldn’t survive this.

“you’ll do your best right?” you nod enthusiastically, you wanted to take as much as you could. “good girl.” oh, you’d have to explore that later. you nearly moaned at him calling you that. rafe caught it though, he knew your reactions well by now. he lined it up over your stomach, seeing how far it would go and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. your belly button was completely covered, not that it mattered he was halfway up your torso. rafe’s grip on your waist tightened, he’d ruin you for anyone else, stretch you out and mold you just for him. no one would feel as good as him and he nearly drooled at the sight.

despite how feral he felt, he made sure you were still wet enough for him to slip in, you were. his tip pressed against you, he let you drool onto him, juices swirling with his and making a sick plap plap plap sound as he tapped against you. he’s far wider than his fingers and you tried to relax. you motioned for him to come closer, his lips out of reach and you kissed him sweetly. when he could feel you relax he pushed in, instantly being shoved out. so tight he couldn’t even get the tip in. “fuuckkkk gonna have to marry you.” you don’t even process his words and he doesn’t really know he’s saying them out loud either. he tries again, pulling you slightly onto his length and you gasp at the stretch. your gripping him like a vice and it’s nearly uncomfortable but being inside you breaks something inside of him and he’s drooling into your mouth. you don’t even care you want more. “doin well angel, taking me so well.”

the pain is an afterthought now, you want him to stretch you and fill you until you can’t breathe. you don’t know if you’ve wanted anything more in your life. so you do the unthinkable, you try moving down his length. rafe can’t be held responsible for his actions after that.

he gives into your silent plea, skewering you in his cock and pushing past your gooey rings of resistance until he’s halfway in. you held your breath the entire time as he curved into you, tip smearing precum along your walls as he molded you to him, his veins catching on your entrance. you push at his chest, the pain making you scream his name as he lets you adjust. there’s tears trailing down your cheek that he licks away and kisses you until the ache between your legs becomes distant. rafe makes the mistake of looking down, sees the way you’re gaping for him and how it looks like he’s splitting you in half and bottoms out. the snap of his hips against yours makes you moan, he’s filled you up now and you can feel him in your throat. you swear you feel him get bigger when you whine his name pathetically, his dick twitching inside you.

it’s too much and you try running from it, shoving up the length of the bed but rafe just pulls you back down. “t-too big hng can’t-“

“come on i thought you were-fuck-a big girl,” he groans into your ear, you shove against him once more and he slips out a few inches, just enough for you to relax. you can still feel him nestled against your cervix, he’s leaking into you and your thighs are coated in both of your arousal. you tap his shoulder for him to move again, pulling out until his tip is the only thing inside and then spearing all the way back in. the feeling makes you cross-eyed, his throbbing tip bumps along your sensitive spot until it nestles against you, as far high up as it can and you think you might be coming on every thrust because you’re so obscenely wet more slick just pours out of you every time. rafe knows it’s because there’s no space for anything but his cock and he can’t help but grin, watching your pussy engulf his length despite how small you are under him.

“feels good hah,” you finally murmur into his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips so he can drill into you better. his thrusts are deep and slow, letting you get used to the feeling but you don’t think you like it like this. if he’s going to ruin you he might as well do it properly. “h-harder.”

“turned this pussy into a slut, ‘couldn’t even take-hah-two fingers now look at you.” really he’s proud of you, proud that he made you like this. he gives into your request, it’s your first time so he’s gonna be nice to you. rafe pulls out and slams back into you setting a faster rougher pace, your skin is slapping against each other and you think he might bruise your hips. you head is shoved up the length of his bed until it threatens to bump against the headboard, he puts his hand between you and the wood, his other hand holding onto the frame for support. your legs are being bent and pressed to the sides and the new angle makes him hit that spot with blaring accuracy. a sick ring of white forms at the base of his dick and his balls are slippery from your arousal. you still have a vice grip around him, something he won’t get used to but is definitely get addicted to. the room smells filthy and the sounds of you chanting his name combined with the squelch of your cunt is pornographic.

“gonna be a good girl and come around my cock?” your walls flutter at his words, like his permission has you ready to come. you come undone with one more thrust, walls fluttering around him as if coaxing him to come. “fuck fuck fuckkkk.” he pulls out just in time for come onto your stomach, shooting thick gooey ropes onto your soft unmarred skin.

you blearily watch it happen, disappointed he didn’t come inside, but warm and fuzzy from your release. there’s one thought nagging you though as you rest comfortably on his sticky soaked sheets. “it wasn’t a one time offer right?”

“no fucking way, i’m never letting you go.” rafe looks at you like you’re crazy, he’s ready to propose. there’s no way in hell he’s making this a one night stand. after all he’s broken you in, now it’s the fun part.

taglist: @ggraycelynn

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

"They need to have a safe adult to process this stuff with." YES!! A MILLION TIMES YES!!!

So story time!! When I was a kid, my middle school was weird. It was 4th grade through 8th grade. That meant you had kids ages like 8 to 14 in there. And that is a HUGE broad range of ages and developments! Immensely huge!!

But as a result, you had literal children exposed to swearing, sex jokes, puberty, reproductive talks, mentions and even sights of drugs.

That was a TON to handle!! For a child to see that and hear that all?! It was too much to handle alone. And the sad part is a lot of the kids did end up handling it alone. And they became fucked over trying to make sense of it all. Some, in late high school, sorted that out, but many didn't.

I was lucky to have a mother who talked with me about it all. She sat me down if I had questions or concerns, she spoke to me and my brother about these very adult topics, and from a young age, I'm talking like at age 10, she trusted me enough to understand what the word cock could be, aka either a chicken or a dick.

She helped me to process this all. Make it less scary and intimidating.

My mother even helped me learn what consent was when I was 9, and how to say no if someone did something I didn't want.

And when I was a little kid, she took me on shopping trips and sometimes she stopped in the liquor store, and I'd go in, and I didn't care or mind. She didn't mind. She was exposing me so I understood it, and she knew I wouldn't be tempted later on when I could legally drink. Hell, as a teen if I wanted a beer, or a glass of champagne, she didn't deny me, but I also never did want that because I just wasn't interested.

Even now, as an adult, I don't really like alcohol. The taste is weird, and all I would drink is mead and maybe a beer.

But it's because my mother exposed me safely with her guidance at a young age that I understood and knew my limits and grew up to not be tempted by adult things that so many are sheltered from to "protect" them.

Those kids aren't protected. They're endangered. Because they do not know the limits and dangers of themselves or what they are imbibing as adults the way they would know if they grew up with someone to guide and help them know these things.

Now when I did reach high school, our freshman year was sex ed in health class. And the thing is, our state legally requires to offer parents/guardians the option offered to opt their child out.

These people were notified by email, and they could opt their children out. They had to sign a document to allow the kids to learn, and if the kid showed up without that document for the day?

That kid got opted out.

So many parents did this. Most for religious excuses, but I say "excuses" because that's what it is. Everyone should be made to learn sex ed and properly, not with just abstinence only, or religious-based sex ed.

And so many of those same parents who opted their children out, I knew them. Because it's a tiny town where you know everyone first, middle, last name, probably even deepest darkest secret.

And those parents were the exact ones who tried so damn hard to shelter their children, teens, even, from adult subjects and environments. Didn't let them even so much as look at alcohol. Wouldn't let them even hear a single swear or the word "sex" lest that parent shame you half to fucking death for exposing their child to inappropriate subjects. Prevented their kids from playing videogames at all or from listening to so many musical genres and artists, reading most books or watching most shows and movies. They did everything to shelter those kids. And I mean EVERYTHING.

But many of those same kids grew into adults and, underexposed or entirely unexposed to adult things and subjects, they went off the rails once on their own. OD'ed or had kids at 18 by accident, got arrested for stupid shit and having illegal weapons, got caught in domestic violence situations, you name it. Some went on to advocate the same way their parents taught them and try to do what they experienced, doing away with sex ed and fighting tooth and nail to "cleanse" the internet and media for children to be "safe" from the "horrors" of adulthood.

But do you know what happens when a person who's been through tough things hides those behind a wall and refuses to engage with and process those tough things? What happens when said person protects themselves from trauma without confronting it?

That can outright cause a psychological break.

It did for me. I put my trauma behind a wall, hid it, never confronted it, and wound up fucked in the head for years and I'm still trying to recover as an adult. Granted it was unrelated trauma to the subject, but point is:

These parents trying to protect their kids are walling them up. They are shoving them behind that wall hard, and when it comes crashing down once that kid is an adult, they're left to their own devices as they try figuring out how to navigate this world put up to them as so horrifying and terrifying and evil.

But they're adults. So many of their parents expect them to just figure it out on their own. No help.

And that, in my eyes, is the equivalent of a psychological break. Being suddenly exposed to the "trauma" of the world and left to handle it alone does no one any good, and everyone I've known that had to endure such an ordeal is either screwed over even worse than I am, or they're dead. Outright dead by terrible circumstances.

Yet those of us who were lucky enough to have adults that, from a young age, helped us understand these adult things?

We were better able to understand how to avoid the dangers of them, regulate ourselves, and keep safe from terrible circumstances which, quite sadly, killed a good few people I used to know.

Understanding the limits, the dangers, the subjects of adult situations and things, does not prevent the individual from being safe from them entirely. But it does help them understand what they're getting into and how to get out if caught.

You cannot stop your children from doing bad things, but you can prepare them to know the full range of what they're getting into so that, if they do said things, at least they can be safe about it.

Maybe instead of asking what if a kid sees/hears this adult thing, we ask why is that kid in an adult space and get them to leave, instead of forcing all the adults to change and cater to the child who wandered into THEIR SPACE.

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (13/28)

today's @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt was love declarations, and my fill is here

this is the end of the sal and gina mini-arc and i miss them already. tumblr version below for those who prefer to read here

After a few hours at the beach, Evan complains of being hungry.

"Ooh," Gina says.

"Taco truck," Sal finishes.

"I'll go," Gina offers.

"You want some help?" Evan offers.

"Yeah," Gina says with a rapidity that says she doesn't want help, but does want Evan to herself for the drive there and back.

"Meet you back at home," Gina calls over her shoulder, one hand tucked into Evan's arm.

Tommy smiles and watches them go. Evan and Sal were probably a bit of a wildcard, given Sal's history with Bobby, but he knew the minute he met Evan that Gina would adore him.

"I love him," Tommy says.

"Nah, really?"

"Fuck off, man. I'm trying to - I'm being serious."

"Okay, okay," Sal says, holding his hands up in surrender.

"How did you know - " Tommy can't believe he's about to ask Sal of all people this, but for all Sal's many (many, many) faults, he loves Gina with the same intensity he does everything else, still, all these years and two kids later. "How did you know G was the one?"

Sal looks at him like he's lost his mind. In fairness, it's not the kind of conversation they typically have.

"Jesus. Okay. Two answers. I knew I wanted her to be the one when I had to cancel our third date because of work and instead of getting mad she picked me up from the station with a bottle of bourbon and a bag of greasy burgers."

Tommy grins. "I remember that. Knew she was too good for you."

"Still is," Sal agrees easily. "I knew she was the one when Nash shit-canned me and I was acting like an asshole because that podunk hick stole my job."

Tommy raises his eyebrows and Sal waves his hand. They've had this conversation enough times that they've boiled it down to gestures.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. She sat me down and said 'look. I wanna love you. Stop making it so fucking difficult'."

Tommy laughs, because yeah. That sounds like Gina.

"She saw me at my worst, or. I dunno. One of my worsts. And she wanted to love me anyway."

"Aw."

"Shut the fuck up, man, you were at the wedding, you heard the fuckin' vows, you know I think she's the best person on the fuckin' planet, you don't gotta be - "

Tommy pulls out his best-worst east coast accent. "Ey, I'm cursin' here!"

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Kinard."

"Alright, alright," Tommy says, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"So, come on. How'd you know?"

"Wanted it when he asked me to his sister's wedding after half a date. Knew it when he took me back after I did something really fucking stupid."

Sal rolls his eyes and shoves Tommy's shoulder. "Classic fuckin' Tommy. Can never just make it easy on yourself, huh?"

Tommy lets Sal pull him to his feet and back towards the house.

"We did good, huh?"

Sal slings an arm around his shoulders. "Look at us now, Ma."

[goblinontour]

Down On All Fours

part 7 | series masterlist

release

warnings: implied age gap, daddy kink, mentions of death, suicidal thoughts, crying, rough fucking of all the holes, therefore piv and anal, heavy dubcon (and i really mean it, it’s a lot and please don’t read if that’s something you’re not comfortable with), mentions of bodily fluids (pretty much everything you can think of…well, not everything), choking, strangulation, i hope that’s all. anyone under 18, it’s time to respect my wishes at least this one time, do not read it, do not interact.

word count: 13.8k

Intrigue.

To arouse one’s curiosity or interest — or to put it simply…  

Fascinate.  

That’s what he was to you. What he meant to you. And you to him, to a certain extent. Though you were sure his reasoning for that was much different from yours. You’d never asked, and he’d never offered. There were things that lived in the silence between you, words neither of you dared to shape because speaking them out loud might make them real. And maybe that’s what kept it alive — this fragile, flickering thing that neither of you wanted to name.  

Come to think of it, you didn’t even know what it was that intrigued you about him. Not really. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could hold in your hands, examine under the light, give shape to with words. It was slippery, like something submerged just beneath the surface, catching the light only when you weren’t looking directly at it. A shadow always half a step ahead, just out of reach. But you felt it in the marrow of your bones, like a splinter that never quite healed.  

Like you, he wasn’t special. Just a man. Troubled, somewhat deeply, by what? You hadn’t found out yet. And maybe you didn’t want to. Perhaps knowing would ruin it, pull back the curtain and reveal nothing but an ordinary man with ordinary demons. But there was something in the way he carried them, like fragile things he cradled close to his chest, never letting them slip from his grasp. A hollow space carved somewhere inside of him, filled with shadows he didn’t try to chase away. He wasn’t trying to be free of them. No, he wore them like a second skin, stitched into the fabric of who he was. You knew, though, that he liked that feeling. Because, like you, he didn’t try to get rid of it. He didn’t want to let it go. It sat inside him like an old friend, familiar and corrosive, and he nurtured it in quiet ways — a glance too long at nothing, a sharpness in his voice when it wasn’t needed, the distant look that lingered even when you were right there.  

He was handsome, yes, in your eyes at least. That might’ve had something to do with it. The kind of face that made you pause — not because it was perfect, but because it wasn’t. His beauty wasn’t the kind that begged for attention. It crept up on you, like a bruise darkening just under the skin. There was something fractured about it, sharp angles softened by exhaustion. The kind of face that looked carved, not crafted. And those eyes…dark, rimmed with sleepless nights and thoughts too heavy to carry. His eyes drew you in. Beyond the dark circles and sadness, there was something else. An embedded hope inside of them. A fragile, flickering thing tucked away like he was ashamed to have it, and have it show, and to have it be seen. That made him beautiful, more than anything else.  

But you didn’t think beauty alone would make you let him get away with so much, if it weren’t for something else. 

It had to be something else.  

Maybe the way his hands felt on you before he’d even touched you. A ghost of contact, imagined but tangible enough to leave a mark. You knew they’d be rough in their grip, but the skin in the middle of his palms was softened — worn down by years of holding things too tightly, of letting go too late. You could picture them, resting idle but never relaxed, like they were always ready to take or break or hold…or maybe even be held. The kind of hands that knew how to destroy and sometimes forgot how to be gentle, except with you. Hands that smelled faintly of metal, of old leather, of something colder than the room itself.  

Maybe it was the way he looked at you sometimes — like he was trying to memorise you, not because he thought you’d leave, but because part of him already believed you were gone. Like you were a ghost he could only see when the light hit you just right. Or maybe it was the way he didn’t look at you at all, the way his absence filled the room louder than his presence ever could.  

Maybe it was how he felt like a place you could crawl inside of and hide, even when he was the thing you needed hiding from. A contradiction wrapped in skin.  

Maybe it was just him.  

The sum of all his contradictions, stitched together with frayed threads of grief and anger and something softer he didn’t know how to name. The way his silence filled the spaces between your words, like punctuation marks carved from bone. The way his presence pressed against your chest even when he wasn’t near, pulling at something invisible beneath your ribs.  

It was in the small things. The way he lit his cigarette but never smoked it past the halfway mark, as if finishing it would mean admitting to something he wasn’t ready to confront. The way he’d stare out the window, not looking at anything, but seeing something only he could. The way his jaw tightened when he thought no one was watching, but knew you were. You were always watching. 

You couldn’t help it.  

You studied him like he was something fragile and volatile all at once — a cracked glass filled with gasoline. A single touch could shatter or ignite him, and you never knew which it would be until it was too late. And maybe that was part of it, too. The not knowing. The anticipation of something sharp beneath the surface, hidden under the quiet.  

But there were moments — brief, fleeting — when the darkness receded just enough to glimpse something else beneath it. The way his hand would linger on the small of your back a second too long. The way his breath would hitch when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his voice softened when he called you his, like it was the only thing in the world he wasn’t trying to forget.  

And maybe that was why you stayed.  

Not because you wanted to fix him — you weren’t naive enough to think you could. Not because you were waiting for him to change — he never would.  

But because in the spaces where he didn’t know how to be anything other than broken, he made room for you. In the sharp edges he didn’t bother to smooth, you found something to hold onto. In the dark, tangled parts of him, you saw your own reflection.  

And maybe that was it. Maybe it wasn’t about intrigue or fascination or even love.  

Maybe it was recognition.  

A mirror held up to the parts of yourself you didn’t want to look at, wrapped in the shape of a man whose hands felt like both a promise and a threat.  

Maybe that was it.  

Maybe it was everything.  

Or maybe it was nothing.  

And maybe that should have been enough of a reason to stay away.

But it wasn’t.  

Because even knowing all of this, even recognising the sharp edges of him, the jagged teeth of whatever it was that gnawed at his insides, you didn’t move away. You only watched, only lingered, only let yourself be pulled deeper into the orbit of whatever force he carried inside of him.  

It wasn’t just intrigue. It was something worse. Something more like…inevitability.  

You could have turned back, could have left before his hands ever found you, before his words ever sank their claws into the soft parts of your brain and made a home there. 

But you didn’t.  

Because the truth was, you wanted to see what was inside him.  

You wanted to crack him open, spread him out under the light and sift through the wreckage. Wanted to understand what made him flinch at kindness, what kept him up at night, what filled his lungs when he went quiet for too long. Wanted to see if there was anything left of him that was soft, or if he’d let it all rot away a long time ago.  

And maybe that was cruel. Maybe that made you just as bad.  

But he didn’t turn you away.  

He let you press closer. Let you watch him, let you follow, let you sink into his space like you belonged there. And maybe you did. Maybe you always had.  

Maybe that’s why he never stopped you.  

Because maybe he wanted to be seen. Even if he wouldn’t admit it. Even if it hurt.

His presence was overwhelming. 

You could always feel it before you even saw him — felt the heat radiating from his body, the way the air seemed to thicken, to become something heavy in the space between you. It was like being trapped inside an electric storm where the tension crackled in the silence and you were both just waiting for the inevitable spark that would break the stillness.

His hands slid around your body, a promise in the way his fingertips barely brushed your skin. They found your ankles first, pressing into the soft flesh stretched taut over bone as he guided you, pulled you closer, making you feel every inch of his strength as he moved over you. You could feel the heat of him now, close enough to touch, too close to escape. The sheets under you were cold, the fabric brushing against the bare skin of your legs, the sensation almost jarring against the warmth of his hands.

You could feel him looking at you before you lifted your gaze. His eyes were already fixed on you, like he could see right through the parts of you that you wanted to hide. There was something terrifyingly possessive in the way he looked at you — a way that made you feel both seen and exposed, as if there was nothing left to hide, nothing left to protect yourself with.

He towered above you, his figure framed by the dim light in the room, a shadow over you, yet somehow he seemed to glow. You couldn’t help but notice the way his body was tensed up with restraint, the muscles in his arms, his chest, his shoulders. Every movement he made was deliberate, like he was trying to control every aspect of you — every sensation that flickered through your body, every breath you took.

And still, you didn’t fight it. You didn’t resist. You never did. The reality of the moment was both familiar and foreign at once. You had lived it before, and yet it always felt new, always felt like the first time. Your mind was caught in a whirlwind of memories — his touch, his words, the way he made you feel — but now, here, in this moment, all of that faded away. It was just you and him, and the weight of what he needed from you, what he expected, pressing down on you.

His fingers brushed your lips as he leaned down closer, and you could feel the roughness of his touch against your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of the sheets beneath you. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, his breath hot against your face, his presence so consuming that you couldn’t breathe without feeling him. 

Then his voice cut through the haze of thoughts that swirled in your mind, low and rough. “You want a big girl kiss?”

His fingers parted your lips, his rough pads pressing against the soft, tender skin. The movement was sharp, purposeful. You felt your body respond to him without thinking, your mouth parting for him even though you hadn’t made the decision. He wasn’t asking for permission, and you didn’t offer resistance. It wasn’t meant as gentle. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was demanding, possessive, molding you into what he needed you to be. A toy. An object. Something to bend to his will. 

And you let him. Because deep down, in the place where the edges of desire blurred with need, you knew you wanted it too.

“My girl wants Daddy to kiss her?” 

Your body went numb. Not in the way most would think — numb from fear or from discomfort. No. You were numb in the sense that you simply stopped feeling the way you normally would. You stopped fighting the chaos within you. You let yourself be moulded, let yourself be reshaped by the heat of his touch, the weight of his presence. You weren’t sure you could feel anything at all in this moment. But then again, you didn’t need to feel. 

You just let things be felt.

The quiet hum of tension between you two filled the space. It was almost comfortable in its own unsettling way. And he needed this. Needed someone, needed some…thing — anything. He wanted to break something. Or perhaps he just wanted the release of control.

“Stick your tongue out.” he demanded, his voice turning deeper. 

It was a struggle. He had your lips held too tightly, pressed together in a way that kept anything from escaping your mouth. Barely words could slip through the cracks, let alone anything solid. But the order didn’t leave room for hesitation. You forced yourself to obey, stretching your tongue outward, the motion clumsy, unsure, but obedient.

There was a moment of stillness then, a lingering silence between the two of you as he observed you. His eyes were heavy, weighted, watching every little detail of your movements with a hunger that seemed to burn deeper with every passing second. 

“Am I too heavy?” His voice broke through, soft in contrast to the way his body pressed down on yours. 

He straddled your thighs now, his body holding you down, pinning you to the bed with a force that was more than just physical. It wasn’t his pair of legs and arms, his torso, and his head, and every other part that added up to him — it was his presence that was the heaviest thing in that room, bearing down on you with an intensity that made every breath feel too thick, every moment stretched longer than it should have been.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to answer. You could barely think, the pressure of him making everything in you feel like it was sinking, drowning in the tension. You shook your head, your cheek pressing into the cool pillow beneath you, the small motion your only response, the only thing you had left to offer.

“No.” you whispered. 

And then, his lips curled into something dangerous. 

“I’ll give you the best big girl kiss.” 

Like smoke, lingering, staining, his words weren’t meant to be comforting. They weren’t meant to soothe. They were the kind that promised no mercy, no release, only the need for you to bend further, to surrender yourself fully to him, stretched between cruelty and tenderness, between something real and something imagined. His fingers lingered against your lips, pressing just hard enough to remind you he was there, to remind you once again that you belonged to him in this moment — whether you wanted to or not.  

When they loosened slightly, enough to let your mouth part, your breath trembled out as though it belonged to someone else. His thumb brushed over the raw imprint left on your bottom lip, soft skin compared to his, calloused from work, from time, from whatever had carved its history into him. But beneath that was warmth, subtle and hidden, refusing to die. His thumb dragged along the corner of your mouth, smearing the wetness of breath and submission, tracing the shape of your compliance.  

His breath was against your lips then, hot and near, a promise of what was to come. But he didn’t move yet. He let the tension build, letting every second between you stretch and tighten until it felt like the very air was vibrating with the weight of what was about to happen.

He didn’t kiss you.  

He didn’t kiss you, yet. He hovered there, his mouth a ghost just above yours, close enough that you could taste the phantom of him — something faintly bitter like regret — and he stared. Right into you, past the fragile mask of your face. His pupils were dark pools with no bottom, swallowing everything you gave without the courtesy of reflection, pinning you down not with strength, but with something worse: understanding.  

“Look at me.” he whispered, voice raw, as if the words themselves were knives he’d swallowed.  

And you did. Of course you did. Because how could you not? There was gravity in him, in the way his jaw clenched, in the faint tremor beneath his skin like a storm he was getting too tired to outrun. 

His breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t used to being seen.  

Your eyes met his, and it felt like standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, swallowing everything — your face, your thoughts, your fragile attempts to be more than just a shape beneath him.  

Then, finally, he kissed you.  

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t rough, either. It was something else — something hungry, not for flesh, but for proof. Proof that you were still there, that he was still here, that something in this hollow world could still be tangible if he pressed hard enough. His lips bruised yours with meaning rather than malice. It wasn’t the kind of kiss people wrote about in soft, safe stories. It wasn’t tender or sweet. It was simply necessary, like tearing open a wound or peeling back a scab just to feel the sting and see the blood. His mouth claimed yours with a desperation that felt too old to still be so new. 

He’d been starving for years and only just realised it. 

Your hands moved without thought or permission, clutching at him, pulling — not to bring him closer, but to keep yourself from drifting. He was the anchor, and you were the thing trying desperately not to float away in the eye of the storm. You, too, were tired of standing on the edge.  

When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours and both of you breathed like it hurt to do so.  

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me.” he whispered, almost to himself.  

You wanted to say, me neither. But the words lodged in your throat. Instead, your fingers found his wrist, tracing the faint pulse beneath skin — fragile, steady, proof. Proof that he was real. Proof that you were, too.  

His eyes fluttered shut, his expression softening just enough to show the cracks beneath. “I don’t think I know myself anymore.”  

The words fell between you, sharp and raw, bleeding into the quiet. You didn’t try to fix them. You just stayed, your touch gentle, your breath syncing with his until it felt like you were holding pieces of him together — not with strength, but with presence.  

I can feel the weight of your presence even when you're not near me, he thought. Like a shadow that looms over everything, even in daylight. And when you’re close? When you’re here, your touch is more than just a presence. It’s something that consumes. 

It was suffocating, but he didn’t know if he could fight it anymore.

His fingers pressed against your skin, rough, methodical, as though he was trying to learn you like the contours of some strange, unfamiliar object. He couldn’t stop tracing, couldn’t stop touching. 

You didn’t flinch. 

You wondered, though, somewhere in the depth of your mind, if he ever wondered why he kept coming back. Was it really about needing something to bend, something to break? Was that why you were here? Was it why you, too, stayed? Because beneath everything, beneath the touches, the silence, the tension, there was an unspoken understanding that you were both just trying to hold on to something…anything. 

You could feel him everywhere, and you hated how it made you ache for him, for something more. But you didn’t dare ask. He wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he never would be…unless…

“You always make me feel like I’m drowning.” you whispered, barely audible, the words slipping from your lips as easily as the tears that gathered in your eyes. 

“That’s good.” he murmured. “You should…feel it.” 

And there was something in the way he said it…

He wasn’t just talking about the act anymore. He wasn’t just talking about the desire that had built and built until it had nowhere else to go but here. He was talking about that darker something that lurked beneath the surface, that neither of you could face the finality of.

And still, you didn’t fight. 

This urge.

It was getting stronger. He could feel it, growing inside him, clawing at the edges of his mind like something feral and desperate. It was hunger, aching, gnawing at him with the kind of intensity that drowned everything else, made him lose himself in the fire of it. His head was throbbing, sharper now, a beat that didn’t sync with his pulse, didn’t match the rhythm of his body. He wanted to shut it out, to push it away, but it was impossible. It was too much. 

The pressure was unbearable. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

His voice cracked, rough and fractured like he was holding back something violent — something that wanted to break free. Exactly that. His chest tightened, desperate for release, for something to stop the ache, but there was no escape. Not from this. Not from him.

“What do you mean, Al?”

Your voice cut through the thick silence like a blade, soft, innocent. But he knew you weren’t that. Not anymore, anyway. 

He flinched at the sound of his own name, the rawness of it still unfamiliar, still sharp in ways he didn’t want to admit. But he didn’t fight it anymore either. He couldn’t. It was too late for that. 

“I want to be inside your darkest everything, sweets.”

The words spilled from him like poison, but there was something almost tender in the way he said them. A yearning. An offering. And it sent a tremor through your body, one that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried. 

You held his face then, the warmth of your hands pressing into the coolness of his skin. Your fingers traced the sharpness of his jaw, and for a moment, everything stilled. Your eyes locked — no words, just the weight of everything that’s been unsaid, everything that had been waiting. 

And then you spoke. 

“I think I mostly just want to hold you.”

You could see the shift in him. The way his breath caught, the way his gaze softened, just for a second, before the hunger came rushing back, like an unstoppable tide. 

He didn’t answer and he didn’t speak. Instead, he moved closer, his lips brushing against yours, soft and searching at first, as if to test the waters, to gauge how much of this — of him — you could truly bear. 

It was written in the way he looked at you, in the way his fingers gripped you tighter, as if you might slip through his hands, as if you might disappear into the dark.

He didn’t need to say it. The words were there. 

You could feel it too.

Save for the rhythmic sound of your breath and his, tangled and heavy, the quiet was the loudest thing, pressing in from every angle, demanding attention. A silence that, in its own way, spoke volumes. 

He shifted, his body now hovering just above yours, the weight of him pressing against you, the darkness of him filling the space between you. He moved closer, inches, then closer still, until there was nothing left but the space you shared. Nothing but the inevitable. 

And you let it drown you. You let him, because you had no other choice. Because you both were caught in the same endless spiral of need and destruction. You were just as broken, just as lost, as he was.

So you didn’t speak. You let him keep you here, keep you in the silence, in the darkness. 

Silence, too, can be its own kind of truth.

But he was ready for confession. 

“I had someone. I had…I had everything.” he murmured, his voice so soft it barely broke the air between you, yet it felt as loud as thunder. 

It felt…divine to hear him like that, raw and exposed, even though it was more sacrilegious than it could ever be considered something holy. His words were broken, fragmented pieces of a past that had never truly let him go, all spilling out in a quiet rush. 

He lay on his back, his body still but his mind racing, staring up at the ceiling as though the cracked plaster held the weight of all his secrets. Once he started, there was no stopping him.

“Everything…I had everything. And I couldn’t save them. It was a special day, that day when I…when I hurt you.” His words faltered, his chest tightening as he paused, grappling with the memory. “I could see them, and then I couldn’t. And it was like losing them all over again. And it felt so painful…it still…it still feels like pain, like the inside of my body is on fire, and it’s burning, and it’s angry, and bright, and…and it’s great, but…sometimes I just want someone to spread me open and pull my ribs out.”

His voice trailed off, each word more fragile than the last, as though he were admitting something that had been festering for years because, well, he was. The darkness in him was so raw, so deep, that you could almost feel it seep into the room.

You didn’t respond right away. You let his words hang in the silence between you, heavy and broken. There was a part of you that wanted to pull him back, to shield him from whatever it was that made him hurt this way, but you knew you couldn’t. Not this time. He needed to say it. He needed to feel heard, to feel understood.

“Like a thick black cloud covering everything.” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, almost like you were echoing his pain. Your hand moved slowly, tentatively, over his chest, settling over the center, right above his heart. You could feel the pulse beneath your palm, slow and steady. Despite everything he’d just shared, it was calm, almost as if it were trying to ground him, to bring him back to something solid in the midst of the chaos.

He let out a quiet, almost inaudible chuckle, the sound so out of place, so delicate in the depths of the rawness. “That sounds super depressing.” His laugh was light, a soft giggle that seemed to float in the air like a sigh of relief, just like everything he’d confessed had, for a fleeting moment, lost its grasp on him.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound, the way it cut through the tension between you, as though you were both reaching for something to hold onto in the aftermath. And maybe, just maybe, that lightness was the beginning of something else that wasn’t wrapped in pain. Something that might still have the power to heal.

But the silence crept back in, heavier than before. It was a quiet kind of comfort, one that existed between two people who had shared something broken, something ugly, but still, in some way, still needed each other.

He was still staring at the ceiling. 

And when he broke it, there was something that wasn’t quite anger in there, but something close to it.

“I just want to tell them…” he murmured, the words slipping out like he hadn’t intended. “Like…it’s weird that you died. Because I can still see you. I can still feel you. I could hold onto you, but it’s like...you’re still here, but not here. Like you’re stuck in my head. I can’t forget you…and I don’t know how to make sense of that.” 

You watched him. He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was lost in the faded cracks, praying that he might find the answers in the chipped paint right above him. He often did that. And you wondered if he ever found peace in it. Or if he even wanted to.

“Nostalgia is just proof you’re living a life you can be proud of, Alexander.” you said, your voice steady despite the heaviness that settled in your chest. You had no reason to believe the words, but they felt right coming from you in this moment. “I think it’s a privilege to yearn for your own memories.”

You could see the way his jaw tightened, how his lips pressed together, like he was trying to resist the urge to let something else spill from him. He finally turned his head towards you, his eyes searching yours, a kind of vulnerability flickering behind them.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He needed you to tell him that it wasn’t all as messed up as it felt in his head.

You almost laughed. A hollow sound that didn’t quite fit. “No.” you replied, your words dripping with bitterness. “I want to forget them. I’m a sad, bitter, weak human being.”

The truth was spilling out too easily. You, too, were now letting go of something you had held onto for too long.

You were weak. 

You were just like him. 

And that hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

“You’re so fucking clever, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” you muttered back. “I don’t know. Maybe I just tell myself that so I don’t have to admit what I really am.”

He was back on top of you then, shifting his weight once more as his body pressed against yours, the change in his mood palpable. The smile that had once lingered on his lips, playful and light, now twisted into the hunger, giving in. 

“I love you so much.” he whispered. That almost made you flinch, made you ache some more. He wasn’t supposed to say it. Not like this. Not in the middle of all of this. “That’s fucking insane for me to say that out loud, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help it. The laugh that bubbled up from your chest felt strange, almost hollow, but it was all you could manage. “Yeah.” you giggled, brittle, fragile. “It’s pretty insane.”

His lips found yours again, but it wasn’t the kiss you had expected. It was different — even rougher, even more desperate, trying to erase all the pain that had just spilled from his words, trying to fill the emptiness between you with something else. His hands were everywhere, gripping, pulling, demanding. His fingers dug into your skin like he was trying to claim you, to pull you back from whatever darkness was threatening to swallow him whole.

You squirmed beneath him, your breath hitching as his lips traced the curve of your neck, his tongue leaving a burning trail in its wake. “Stop it.” you whispered, your voice strained, though you knew it wouldn’t stop him. You never wanted it to. “Stop it.” you said again, a desperate plea wrapped in the guise of resistance. 

His laugh was low, almost mocking, and you felt him adjust again, his body heavier, pinning you to the bed. “Will you run away if I don’t tie you up?” he asked, slipping from his lips with a strange sense of certainty, since he very well already knew the answer.

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling unevenly beneath him. “I don’t know.” you said. “You’d better tie me up.”

There was a pause — one that lingered. You could almost feel what he was about to do. The moment felt like it was stretching out longer than it should have, both of you suspended in it, trapped between the here and the there, between the desperate need for release and the terror of what it might mean.

The way he adjusted, the way he moved…you knew then that he wasn’t going to wait for you to change your mind. He was going to hold you. Whether you liked it or not.

A shadow on your skin, suffocating in a way that wasn’t painful, but still felt like you were drowning. His hands — rough yet so intent — kept pulling you into this thing you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t resist. There was something about him that kept you tethered, even when everything inside you screamed for air, for space.

“Don’t…don’t try to fight it.” he murmured against your ear, his voice low, laced with that certain undertone. His breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, but you stayed still. Still enough that your body felt like it was being molded to fit around him — just the way he wanted.

You were just a soft curve in his hands, something pliable and easy to manipulate. You were, in his eyes, a beautiful piece of clay waiting to be shaped. But it wasn’t about shaping anymore, was it? It had shifted. To taking what was his, what he had a right to, and leaving marks on your soul that were harder to erase.

“Are you wet?” he asked, just as his fingers skimmed the insides of your bare thighs — featherlight, like he wasn’t really touching you at all, just a ghost of contact, enough to make you ache for more.  

“I-…yes.” you whispered, breath catching in your throat.  

“Yeah?” he nagged, his tone sharp with that cruel, playful edge, the corners of his mouth twitching, holding back his grin. “We need to make sure though…don’t we, baby?”  

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage, your body tensing under the weight of his gaze, your skin prickling with anticipation.  

And so he touched.  

Beyond the edges of decency and towards the end of no return. His fingers slid inward, slow, unhurried, slipping between your folds with a precision that felt both casual and calculated. He didn’t press inside — not yet. There was no intrusion, just exploration, his fingertips gliding through the slickness he found there. The wet sound of it was obscene in the quiet, and somehow that only made it worse. Or better.  

He lifted his hand slightly, holding his fingers up between you, glistening in the dim light. His eyes darkened as he stared, fascinated — not just by what he saw, but by the power of it. The power of you. The way you couldn’t stop him, the way you didn’t want to.  

“So slippery.” he observed in a whisper, voice husky, more to himself than to you.  

His fingers found their way back, dragging your wetness lazily over the sensitive skin, spreading it like it belonged to him. His other hand came up, sliding under your chin, tilting your head back just enough so he could see the whites of your eyes — the vulnerability there, so bare, so raw. You felt it everywhere, like you were exposed down to your bones.  

“I could break you.” he whispered, not cruelly, but with an intensity that made your heart stumble in your chest. His fingers pressed just a little harder, a reminder of how easy it would be. “And you’d let me. Wouldn’t you?”  

You didn’t answer right away. 

Your mind was a battlefield warring with the deep-seated fear clawing at one side and the strange, undeniable pull you felt toward him at the other. He was like a puzzle, jagged pieces that didn’t quite fit together but somehow made perfect sense when they did. You were drawn to him because of that — because you couldn’t figure him out, and it terrified you. Because he terrified you in ways that felt all too familiar.  

And yet, all you could do was nod.  

Your throat was too tight to speak. Words felt useless anyway.  

“Good girl.” he muttered, pleased with the unspoken consent that hung heavy between you both.

His presence was becoming more pressing, not just physically but in every other way. His chest rose and fell in time with yours, like you were sharing the same breath, the same space, the same inevitable end. 

His fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, savouring the control, the power, the fragile thread of you stretched tight beneath his hands.  

And even though it scared you, part of you wanted him to keep going. To push until there was nothing left of the person you were before or the one you might have had the chance to become.  

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was softer now, a quiet challenge, but it wasn’t really a question. It was an invitation to back out — a door cracked open just enough for you to slip through if you wanted, though you both knew that wasn’t the choice you were going to make. You both knew you weren’t going anywhere.  

It wasn’t about wanting.  

It was about needing.  

“No.” you breathed, the word barely there, but it was enough. It was everything.  

In that moment, it was clear. You weren’t asking for mercy anymore.  

You were asking for him to finish what he’d started.

His voice was thick with something dark, something satisfied, as he spread the wetness between his fingers, dragging it up and down, slow, deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He wanted you to feel every second of it, to be painfully aware of the way he was learning your body, memorising it with his touch. 

“You always get like this for me.” he murmured, watching the way you twitched beneath him. His fingers barely moved, just ghosting over where you needed him most, teasing, playing. His breath was warm against your skin, his mouth hovering near your ear. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect.” 

His other hand pressed against your lower stomach, pinning you down, reminding you, time and time again, that you weren’t in control here. He was. You had given him that control, surrendered it the moment you let him touch you like this the first time. And he knew it. He could feel it in the way you trembled, in the way your breath hitched every time he shifted, in the way you clung to the sheets…drowning. 

“You like this.” he mused, dragging his fingers up just enough to make your back arch before slipping them away again, leaving you wanting and waiting. He didn’t give in. He liked to take his time. He liked to see you suffer in the best way possible. “I can tell.” 

You whimpered, and he chuckled. 

“You can’t even speak now?” he teased, pressing his fingers against your clit hard enough to make you gasp. “What happened to all those clever words, babygirl? Hm?” 

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He was unravelling you too fast, pulling you apart with nothing but his voice, his hands, his presence. 

He smirked, slow and lazy, as if he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to keep you here, pinned beneath him, on the edge of something devastatingly sweet, forever. 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep playing until you remember how to use that pretty mouth again.” His voice was thick, almost strained, laced with the pleasure of anticipation. “You ready for me, baby? You’ve got me so hard.”  

And he made sure you felt it, not just in the low, wrecked rasp of his words but in the deliberate push of his hips against your thigh. Heavy, hot, undeniable. A silent demand.  

Instinct took over before thought could. Your legs parted in a slow, dragging slide against the sheets, a sound almost as loud as your own breathing. The movement was automatic, a quiet surrender, your knees kept low to let him move between them without resistance. Like you were offering yourself up, like your body had always known how to yield to him.  

He shifted, propped himself up just enough, and you felt the absence of his touch for only a second before you heard it — that sound. The slick, obscene slide of his fist moving over himself, coated in you, working himself with a slow, steady rhythm. The room was too dark to see much, but you could hear everything. The wet, deliberate strokes. The subtle catches in his breath. The low, guttural sounds he made just for himself, the ones he didn’t mean to let slip out. 

It was intoxicating.  

Your breath caught when you felt the blunt heat of him nudge against you, teasing at the place where you were already slick and swollen, already open for him. He let himself linger there for a moment, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, smearing it across you in slow, teasing strokes, like he was savouring the feeling, like he was working himself up to the moment just as much as you were.  

“You ready?”

You barely had time to nod.

“Biiiiig stretch…” he murmured, voice edged with something close to amusement, something dangerously close to reverence. Then, finally, he pushed in.  

It was slow. Deep. He pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the intrusion before he stilled, basking in the tightness, the heat. Your body clenched around him instinctively, and he groaned, the sound reverberating through his chest as he sank fully inside you. He let out a low breath, shaky with restraint, and held himself there for a moment, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, every twitch.  

“Fuck.” he breathed, voice unravelling, head dropping forward. His fingers gripped your hips, possessive, grounding himself in the reality of being inside you again. “So fucking tight. Taking me so good.”

His hands tightened, his breath hot against your skin, and you…you were lost now. 

Completely. 

You were lost in his shadow, swallowed whole by the weight of him, the presence that loomed over you, consumed you. There was no escaping this. No leaving here. 

And then he started moving.  

The stretch was already unbearable, but the drag of him, thick and deep, made your breath catch, made your body tense around him like it was trying to keep him there. But that only seemed to spur him on. The feeling of you — so tight, so warm — made it impossible for him not to want to shred you apart. He groaned as he pulled back just to slam back in, pushing past every inch of resistance until all you could do was take it.  

He could hear you — your whimpers, your gasps, the broken sounds that slipped from your lips as you squirmed beneath him. Could feel your hands grabbing at him, nails pressing into his skin, unsure whether you were trying to push him away or pull him closer.  

“Fuck, baby.” he rasped. “Look at you. Taking it so fucking well.”

He covered your body in praise, words slipping between ragged breaths, between deep, punishing thrusts. One hand wrapped around your throat, firm but not cruel, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned into you, dark and consuming, and you realised you weren’t looking at him. You were looking into him.  

“See yourself the way I see you.” he whispered, leaning in so close his lips brushed yours, not kissing you, just breathing you in. “Look how fucking precious you are.”

And you had to look. Had to see what he saw. You weren’t sure what was written all over your face, but it was reflected right back in his. His love, his need, his ruin. And the way he was ruining you.  

He went hard. Hard enough to blur everything except him. Hard enough to make your moans break into cries, to make your body twist beneath him, trying to run, trying to escape the intensity of it.  

“Where do you think you’re going?” he taunted, voice still dripping with sweetness even as he pinned you back down, holding you there, forcing you to take every brutal thrust.  

The noise filled the room — your cries, his grunts, the sound of skin against skin, yours on his and his on yours, wet and obscene. You could barely breathe, barely think. The pain blurred into pleasure, tangled so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. And then — something gave in.  

All the strength left your body. Your muscles stopped resisting. You stopped resisting. Your mind was still screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something —but your body? Your body wanted.  

And he knew. And he felt it. He felt the way you went limp beneath him, the way you stopped fighting and just…let him have you. It only made him worse. His hard but slow, deep thrusts turned to harsh and uncontrollable. He didn’t hold back anymore. He took you like you were meant to be taken.  

Your hands scrambled for purchase, found his shoulders, his back, and you held on. You dug your nails in, scratching, marking him up with crescent-shaped wounds. But he didn’t seem to mind. No — he loved it. His own marks were littered across your body, teeth sinking into your neck, your collarbone, sucking bruises onto your skin in one last attempt at trying to make you his.  

“Mine.” he growled against your throat, punctuating the word with a sharp, deep thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. “Say it.”

His hand squeezed around your throat, just enough to make you dizzy, to make you choke out the only word that mattered.  

“Yours.”

His pace didn’t falter, not even for a second. He kept driving into you, deep, relentless, his body pressing you further into the mattress with each thrust. You could feel everything — every inch of him, every twitch, every ounce of need he poured into you. And yet, when he spoke, his voice was strained, desperate for something more.  

“Do you like it?” he asked, breath ragged, chest heaving.  

He needed your words. Needed the reassurance that you were still here, that you were still his, still taking him the way he needed you to. But you couldn’t answer. Maybe it was the way he was splitting you apart, his cock hitting so deep it felt like he was breaking something inside of you, or the hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard to steal your breath, to keep you hovering on the edge of dizziness, pleasure, and something dangerously close to surrender. Or maybe…maybe it was just the sheer feeling of release.  

“Talk to me.” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, desperate. His other hand found your jaw, thumb brushing over your parted lips, smearing saliva and sweat and possession across your skin. “Talk to me, baby. What do you say, huh?”

You tried. You really did. But all that came out was a broken, breathless whimper.  

“Mhm…”  

Not enough. Not nearly enough. His fingers tightened, his thrusts turning sharp, demanding.  

“What do you say?” His voice was lower now, rougher. A command wrapped in a plea. “Say thank you, Daddy.”

Your vision blurred. The words barely formed in your head before they were slipping from your lips, raw, shaky, utterly wrecked.  

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

“Again.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Your voices blended, tangled together in that breathless, desperate plea for release. The moment cracked open between you, raw and devastating, and there was no escaping it. Your body trembled beneath him, wracked with exhaustion, pleasure, pain — everything at once. He could see it, how overwhelmed you were, how far gone. Your pretty little face was flushed, streaked with tears, lips trembling, wet with your own drool and his. You were holding back another sob, your breath hitching with every rough thrust, every deep, unrelenting stroke that left you gasping for air.  

And fuck — this view alone.  

It made something dark coil in his chest, something possessive and cruel. It made him ache to ruin you even more. The way you looked, so helpless, so fucking innocent — it was like you were begging for it without even saying a word. Begging to be wrecked. To be used.  

So he did just that.  

He watched you, savouring every tiny shift in your expression, every little twitch of your brows, every sharp inhale, every desperate moan that spilled from your lips. 

And then — before you could even feel it in your bones — he flipped you over.  

It was dizzying. One second you were staring up at him, lost in his shadow, and the next, you were on your stomach, face pressed into the sheets, his weight pressing down on you. You barely had time to process it before he was pinning you down, before he was spreading your legs again, before he was back inside.  

Deeper now. Worse.  

A ragged gasp tore from your throat, muffled against the pillows. His hands gripped your wrists, pushing them above your head, locking you in place. His body covered yours completely, his heat sinking into your skin, his breath hot against your ear.  

“You feel that?” His voice was rough, shaking the with restraint he didn’t really possess anymore. He thrust forward, slow, grinding himself deep, making sure you felt every inch. “So fucking tight like this, baby. Fuck- Made for me.”

You sobbed. A real, broken sob. But you didn’t tell him to stop.  

“Fuck…” he groaned again, dropping his forehead against the back of your neck. “You love this, don’t you? Love being pinned down, love getting fucked deep like this. So deep…”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. He knew. He felt it in the way your body clenched around him, in the way you arched your back despite the weight of him pressing you down.  

“Good girl.” he murmured, dragging his lips over your shoulder. “Let me fuck you up.”

And then he started to move…again.

But when he pressed in and then out of your willing hole, it was as if the world shifted, the space between you collapsing in an instant. His cock was too slick, too wet with the remnants of your body, and it slipped, sliding against you with brutal precision, a brutal force, a relentless pounding that left no room for hesitation. A breathless cry tore from your throat as the shock of it hit you. There was no warning, no preparation. Just force, just him, pressing, pushing, his wetness slick against your skin, forcing its way in.  

The pain was sharp, searing, as he pressed against the tight muscle, relentless, until it gave. And then, slowly, so deeply, he sank himself into you.  

A sharp gasp left your lips, a cry so raw it felt like it tore the air between you. The sudden burn of him pushing with no gentleness and just the harsh reality of his need…you weren’t ready for it, but his body didn’t care. 

It was pain and pleasure, a twisted thing that mixed in the heat of the moment.  

“Fuck…” His voice was strained, a whisper of satisfaction even as he buried himself deeper, as though he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t claim you enough.  

Did he want this all along? Was this always his plan? Was he always going to take you like this? There was no time to wonder — no time to question the urgency that burned between you. But deep down, the thought lingered — he planned this.  

He loved it, didn’t he? 

The way your body tensed around him, the way you cried out, the way he held you down and made you take it. He wanted this. Wanted you.   

He just loved the way your tight little hole gripped him, so tight, so willing despite the ache. How you gasped beneath him, how you arched into him, begging with your body for him to move, to fill you in the way only he could. It wasn’t enough for him to just be inside you — he wanted to see you fall apart. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart…I’m sorry…” His apology was soft, though his actions were anything but. He murmured it against your ear as he thrust again, harder this time, his rhythm pushing you further into the sheets, again and again. “I’m sorry…”

But God, it felt so good to him. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.  

The apology was just a lie. You both knew it. A soft, quiet whisper that barely had time to settle before he thrust into you again. Harder.  

There was no stopping him. The rhythm had taken over, and with each push, he sank deeper, until the room was filled with nothing but the sound of skin, the wetness between you, and the desperate, breathless gasps that escaped from your throat.  

“It was an accident…I didn’t mean…” His words faltered into a murmur as he tried to form the apology again, but it was swallowed by the tension in the air, by the way your body responded to him, to the rhythm of his thrusts. There was no room for words anymore — only the need. Only the heat.  

God, you felt so good. 

Every inch of you wrapped around him, tight and slick, a perfect fit. He could hardly hold on — could hardly keep it together.  

You were so good at this. So good at taking him.   

“Shh, baby…” he soothed needily. “Just take it, sweetie…I know it hurts, but you’re doing so good. So fucking good…so proud of you…”  

Fuck, he thought. He was close. So close. His body shook with the effort to pull back, to hold off for just a moment longer. But he couldn’t. You were too perfect beneath him, too responsive. You made him lose control. 

He fucked you harder, the sound of your sobs mixing with the harsh rhythm of his body against yours. He could barely hear your cries, too consumed with the way you clenched around him, the way your body shook with each thrust, each push that sent a wave of fire through him.  

“Are you crying?” he groaned, a curse escaping his lips, unable to suppress the dark thrill in his voice as he felt you tighten around him. “Fuck…keep crying. Keep doing that…you’re gonna make me come…”  

It felt like the world was on the edge, hanging between the pull of pleasure and the ache of pain, the blur of the two so thick. 

Suddenly, your body arched beneath him, so sharply, so completely, that for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped. He swore he could feel it — the way your breath hitched, the way your body trembled, as though the world was closing in, and you were being consumed by the very force of him. And he swore he could see your eyes rolling back in your head even though your face was turned away from him, caught in the throes of something so pure, so intense. Your mouth hung open, desperate, gasping for air, as your hips started to shake uncontrollably against him. Every part of you was trembling, desperately seeking more, deeper, harder.

The way you moved drove him wild. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you fall apart. He could feel your chest heaving beneath him, and he could hear the shallow, ragged gasps that escaped you, as if you were fighting to take in more of him, trying to catch your breath but unable to. And your hands — God, your hands — clenched hard into tight, desperate fists, curling with so much force that your knuckles were white, struggling to hold on as your body wracked with pleasure, shaking from the inside out. 

“Alexander-” you whimpered, breathless, your very soul spilling out with each sound that escaped your lips. 

“That’s it…that’s it, baby.” he groaned. “Let it all out. Let it all go.”  

His own breath came harder, quicker, as your body tightened, convulsing around him. It almost felt like the very force of your release would shatter the walls that separated you. He couldn’t stop himself now, not when you were this far gone, when you were his. His pulse pounded in his ears, the rhythmic thrusts matching the frantic beat of his heart.  

“You’re my fucking girl.” he murmured. “All fucking mine.”  

You cried out as you gushed over him, and he swore he could feel your soul leaving your body for just a moment. But even in that fragile state, you didn’t pull away. You welcomed it. You accepted it. And that was all he needed — your surrender, your absolute devotion in the midst of all that chaos.

“Let it all out…” 

This was more than he could bear. He pumped harder, his rhythm deepening, feeling your wetness flood around him as you came undone, gasping for air, your body betraying you to the pleasure, to the connection, to every desperate, broken sound you made as your release washed over you.

He didn’t stop, even when your body shook from the aftershocks, even when your cries began to fade into soft moans. His pace only quickened, desperate to take in the way you had completely surrendered to him. And you did. You let him fill you completely.

“Alexander…” you whimpered again, your voice softer now, but it was enough for him. Enough for him to feel that overwhelming rush, that intoxicating power.

“Shh, baby.” he whispered, his voice almost too low, too hushed as he slowed his rhythm just for a moment, pulling you closer. “Just breathe. You’re doing so good…so good.”

He could feel you, deep inside and all around him, your warmth, your breath, your trembling hands beneath him. And even as you cried out, he held you, in a way that words could never fully capture. The world outside of you, of him, seemed to fade away. 

It was just you, just him, and the devastating, beautiful rawness of this connection.  

And then, with a deep groan, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He felt it — his release — a violent surge of pleasure that filled him so completely, so utterly, that he thought he might just drown in it for good. Everything went white-hot. All he could do was collapse against you, his breath harsh, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

You both lay there, tangled in each other, bodies entwined, as the room slowly returned to silence. The only sound left was the soft rhythm of your breathing and the lingering ache of something still hanging in the air. 

He could hear your breathing slow, your body still, and he couldn’t help but lean into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. His voice was a low rasp, still drunk on the intensity of the moment.  

“You’re everything to me…” 

His hands, still shaking, slid across your skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake as he lowered his lips to your neck again. Without another word, they trailed down the curve of your neck, over the slope of your shoulder, leaving open-mouthed kisses that were tender, but they burned, burned hotter than the bruises already forming beneath them, the bruised skin where his grip had held you too tightly, where his body had pressed you too hard, where he had left his mark, undeniable and deep.

Each kiss felt like a brand, searing into you, a silent claim etched in the soft spaces where no one else could see.  

You gasped, still reeling, your body trembling beneath him, your eyes fluttering as you tried to focus. You had been taken to places you hadn’t expected, hadn’t known were possible, and now, all you could do was exist in the aftermath. The sound of his breathing, ragged and desperate, filled your ears as his lips moved lower, brushing the top of your spine before finally pulling away, his gaze wandering over you, over what he had left behind.

He wasn’t ready to let go — not fully. And when he did, he pulled back just enough to see — to witness what he’d done. There was something dark, something possessive in his gaze as his eyes travelled over the marks left behind, the raw evidence of his presence etched into your skin like a secret carved in flesh. 

He paused for a moment, leaning back slightly to take you in and watched the way your body still quivered from the inside, the way you couldn’t quite control the tremors, the way your muscles twitched involuntarily in the wake of everything that had just happened. 

His eyes flicked to the marks of your union.

There, in the dim light, he could see it all — how your body was filled with him, how his release had mixed with your own, the traces of him oozing out in streaks of white mingled with faint hints of red — proof of just how far he’d gone, how deeply he had carved himself into you. It was dripping out of you slowly, staining the sheets beneath.

The sight was almost too much…even for him.

His fingers moved without thought, sliding down your body, slowly, slowly reaching down as he dipped them between your legs, gathering remnants of that connection, scooping some of himself from you in the fragile boundary between tenderness and something darker. 

With a deep breath, he pulled you. You were still shaking beneath him, but you didn’t resist. Then he turned you, gently but firmly, flipping you over, your body moving at his command, until you were face-up again. His eyes flicked back to your face. He could see the faint tremors in your eyes, the struggle to keep them open, glazed with exhaustion, but your body was so pliable, so willing to follow his lead, as though you had no choice but to obey his every movement, caught somewhere between pleasure and vulnerability. 

His gaze held yours as he pressed his fingers to your lips, slick with the remnants of both of you. 

His fingers, stained with the aftermath of you both, hovered at your lips for just a heartbeat before he pressed them past the soft curve, slipping into the warmth. Your breath caught, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment as you took him in, but you didn’t hesitate — your mouth opened, parting instinctively to let him enter, tongue flicking out to meet his fingers with a softness that sent a shiver down his spine. Your lips closed around them and you started swirling lazily, tasting the remnants of him — of you — like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

And when your eyes opened, struggling to stay that way, there was no fear there — only surrender. Willing, fragile surrender. A prayer whispered against the dark.  

You hummed against his touch, tasting him on your tongue like it was a drug, something you craved. Something you needed. He couldn’t help but let out a low groan as he watched you, the way you sucked on his fingers so willingly, so eagerly. He watched, fascinated.

“Such a good girl.” he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a blessing, like an affirmation, trembling with the weight of his own disbelief at the depth of what he felt. His free hand traced the curve of your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone, a fragile contrast to the bruises blooming beneath his touch. “I told you it was nothing to be afraid of, didn’t I? You’re finally all mine now. Mine…” he murmured, leaning down close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Only mine.”

Vows wrapping around your soul.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling, hot and heavy in the space between. His words came softer now. “You’re finally mine…all mine. ”  

You whimpered softly, your breath catching as his fingers remained in your mouth, the pressure building as you sucked on them with increasing desperation, the taste of him filling your senses. And all the while, his hand slid down to your body, feeling the tremors in your skin, the way you shuddered under his touch, as if you were still reeling from the storm he had unleashed within you. 

He leaned down closer, his lips brushing against your ear once more. “You’re mine, you understand that, don’t you? Completely. No one else will ever have you like this.”

The tremors wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop. They were there, deep in the marrow of your bones, the aftermath of something that left you hollow yet full all at once. 

“You’re mine. No one else can have you. Not now. Not ever. You’re mine, body and soul.” 

The words wrapped around you, sinking in deeper. You were tethered to him, bound by more than just the physical. It wasn’t just possession — it was something more, something raw and irrevocable and rotten that had taken root in both of you 

His touch was rougher again, more desperate. He feared that the moment might slip away. His fingers pulled from your mouth slowly.

“I’m never letting you go. Got that? I’m never going to let anyone else touch you the way I do. Not again.”

And there it was — not just a claim, but a truth, undeniable, carved into the silence that followed, where possession felt like devotion, and surrender felt like belonging.  

You knew, now, this time for sure, that there was no going back. You had crossed some invisible line. You were his, completely. You felt the weight of that truth settle deep inside you, sinking into your bones in ways you couldn’t possibly understand.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the ragged pull of your breath mingling with his. It felt more and more like a tight thread about to snap. His hands, large and warm, wrapped around you, pulling you against him as if he could fold you into his skin, make you disappear inside the hollow space carved just for you.

When his fingers slid upward, circling the delicate column of your throat, it was with the precision of someone who knew exactly what they were doing — not hesitant, not questioning, no need for words. It was instinct, the way his palms fit there, like they had been carved by memory, like your neck was shaped for his touch. It felt like their rightful place, ever since…the incident. You didn’t need to ask for his touch, he gave it, and it was just…right. His thumbs traced the fragile pulse beneath your skin, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat — proof of life. 

It was all there, under his touch.

That pulse beat, and beat, and beat against his fingertips, frantic and alive, each flutter a silent confession. He felt your life, fragile and wild beneath his hands, a secret only he could crush or cradle. His grip tightened slightly. The pressure was gentle at first, just enough to remind you that he was there — that he could take more if he wanted to. That he wanted to.

Piece by piece, with nothing more than his hands and his will.

“You feel that?” His voice was low, frayed around the edges. “How easy it is for me to hold you like this? For me to- to…to have all of you?”

The words tangled in your throat, trapped beneath the weight of his touch. 

But your body answered for you.

That answer was written in every shallow breath you managed to take.

He leaned in closer. “You don’t have to ask for my touch. You never did. It’s always been yours.” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your temple, a breath, a shadow. “I already know.”

He was watching you closely, eyes dark and glassy, reflecting something sharp and raw. His gaze wasn’t just on you but inside you, peeling back layers you didn’t know existed. There was no place to hide. Not from him. Not from this.

There was something terrifying and beautiful in that truth.

He was enthralled by the view. He just couldn’t help but go over it in his head. Again and again and again…

This is where you belong, his grip seemed to say. Right here. Under me. Within reach.

His hands tightened.

I want to…

He choked you until you tried speaking. Until you tapped his arm, like you’d practiced, and then until you started flailing and punching when he wouldn’t let go. He wanted to keep squeezing, until you turned purple, until you did everything you could, still fighting him to get loose, against your own wishes, but on simple human instinct. 

…I want her to feel weak. That I can do this to her. When she realises that, then I’ll let her breathe.

His forehead rested against yours. You could feel the tremble in his body, the restraint threading through his muscles, taut and coiled, a fragile leash barely holding him back. His touch softened then. His grip eased, fingers tracing the tender skin his hands had claimed moments before, almost apologetic, as if trying to soothe the very ache he’d created. But the ache wasn’t just physical — it was deeper, buried beneath layers of skin and bone, stitched into the fabric of who you were when you were with him, when you truly allowed yourself to feel it.

“I could take everything…” he whispered, as though the idea itself was sacred. “But I don’t need to. You’ve already given it to me.”

And you had.

Without words, without promises, you had offered him all of you — your fears, your darkness, your very breath — and he had taken it, cradled it in his hands every time like something precious and fragile, even when his grip was anything but gentle.

His hands fell away, leaving the ghost of his touch behind, a phantom feeling where his fingers had been. But even without them, you felt his claim, etched deeper than bruises, deeper than breath.

You didn’t just belong to him.

You wanted to.

The absence of his touch left you feeling hollow. The warmth that had wrapped around you, consumed you, was gone in an instant, and it felt unbearable. Like being abandoned in the cold after knowing only fire. You gasped for it, reaching blindly as though you could pull him back with sheer desperation alone…to fill the void.

“No…” The word left you as a whisper, fragile and breaking.  

Alexander stilled, watching you like he’d been waiting for that very syllable. His dark eyes glowed with something unreadable, something deep and knowing. His head tilted slightly, a predatory curiosity flickering behind his eyes, humming with tension, with expectation. He wanted you to beg. He needed to hear it.  

“What is it, sweetie?” 

Your lips trembled. Your throat felt tight. But the words clawed their way out anyway. “N- no…why’d you stop? P-please…I need it. I need it so…so bad.”  

The desperation in your voice seemed to ignite something in him. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely, into the faintest shadow of a smile — not kind, not soft, but sharp like broken glass. He moved closer.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers brushed over your jaw, tracing the curve of it. His touch felt deceptively gentle. “And what exactly do you need, little love? You know I can’t give you exactly what you want unless you tell me. Use that pretty mouth of yours.” His eyes bore into you, dark and endless. 

But words weren’t enough for this. Words couldn’t capture the way your body ached, the way your mind was unravelling without him. Instead, you just looked at him. Your eyes spoke the language you’d both learned in the spaces between speech — wide and pleading, lips parted, breath shallow. A silent, desperate surrender.  

And he understood.  

Of course he did.  

Because you weren’t two separate people. You weren’t two people trying to find connection. You had been made for each other, pulled from the same darkness, shaped by the same hunger. He was made for this — for you. Just as you were made for him. You weren’t lovers in the ordinary sense, but rather reflections. Fragments of the same whole, scattered pieces finally pulled back together, slotting into place with every breath, every glance, every whispered plea. A single entity split apart, clawing its way back together.  

You didn’t just complete each other. 

You consumed each other.

“You figured it out before me, didn’t you?” His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip. “You knew…knew we were never meant to be apart. That there is no you and me. Just…us.”  

His hand slid down to your throat.  

That was where it belonged.  

He wrapped his fingers around your neck, splaying over your pulse. The pressure was light at first, but it grew, steadily, until it was all you could feel. His grip tightened, not out of cruelty, but because he knew. Knew how much you needed to feel small beneath his hands, how much you craved the razor-thin edge where surrender met survival.

And he stared. Just stared at you.  

The image of you like this — breathless, vulnerable, utterly his — burned itself into his mind. He memorised every detail. The way your chest rose and fell too fast, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled.  

I want to see her fight.  

The thought was sudden, electric.  

Not because he wanted you to escape…but he wanted you to try. To push against him, to resist, to claw for breath with some primal, human instinct — only to realise you couldn’t. That you were weak.  

That he was the only thing keeping you here.  

The idea curled in his chest, spreading like wildfire through his veins.  

“I could keep going, you know.” His grip tightened, just a fraction. “Tighter. Until you really start to struggle…until you start clawing at me. Wouldn’t that be something?” he mused, watching the way your pupils blew wide, the way your hands twitched. “Watching you panic. Watching you really get it inside your tiny head that you’re weak. That I can do this to you. That no matter how much you fight, you can’t stop me.”  

His grip tightened again.  

Your breathing hitched.  

“Or…” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath warm, coaxing. “Maybe I just don’t stop. Maybe I let you struggle, let you break beneath me. Maybe I let you realise this is finally the end for you. Is that what you need?”  

He felt your pulse spike.  

A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest.  

“There’s nothing worthy of your troubles, little one.” he whispered. His grip grew firmer, pressing against the delicate structure of your throat, cutting off just enough air to make your head swim. “And the earth…it isn’t worth even a single sigh of yours, love.”  

Your vision blurred around the edges. Your body twitched. The primal instinct to breathe kicked in, but you made no move to stop him.  

“Pain and torment are our life.” he continued, his voice a low hum in your fading consciousness. “The world? Meaningless…it’s- it’s nothing. But you?” His thumb pressed against your pulse point, feeling the frantic drum of your heartbeat. He tilted his head, considering. Then… 

“Everything.”  

His fingers curled tighter.  

The pressure increased. 

Your body reacted automatically — fingers clawing weakly at his wrist, legs twitching, mind screaming for air. But beneath the panic, beneath the wild thrum of survival, there was a deeper truth: you didn’t want him to stop.

Because in this space, this darkness, you felt more alive than anywhere else.

Air became a distant thing, unreachable, and your hands grew weaker. But you held on. To anchor yourself in the feeling of him. 

He groaned. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you…” His free hand dragged down your body, over every other mark he had left behind. “You’re so pretty like this.”  

Your vision was tunneling now, a slow descent into something dark. Your limbs felt heavy, your chest tight. Your body convulsed, trembling against his hold, not out of fear, but from the overwhelming flood of sensation, the blurred line between pain and pleasure…

…And you felt yourself slipping.

“Now…” he murmured, his face close enough that his breath was the only thing filling your starving lungs, “you just…”

Harder.

“…Calm down.”

And then…

Then he let go.  

The rush of air into your limp lungs was violent. He watched as your whole body folded in on itself, choking on the sudden flood of oxygen that had nowhere to go anymore. But before you could collapse, he caught you. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest as your shaking limbs gave out. 

He cradled you there, his fingers stroking the side of your face, tracing over your skin, memorising you all over again, for one last time.  

“There you are.” he murmured, his voice softer now, lower. “It’s okay, little one. That’s it. Just…” His lips brushed against your temple, lingering. “...right where you belong.”  

Because you did belong.  

To him.  

And he was never going to let you forget it.  

“You’re alright…” His voice slipped into your ear like a soft caress, an unsettling warmth that contrasted with the ice building in your chest. His fingers wrapped around your face, gently yet firmly cradling your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, forcing your still eyes to meet his wild ones. 

His thumbs brushed the traces of tears from your cheeks. The coolness of your skin, damp with the aftershocks of what had just passed, sent a shiver through his body. 

So fragile…his tiny bird caught in the storm. 

And yet, despite it all, he was still drawn to you. He leaned closer, his lips grazing the line of your jaw, a soft, almost tender kiss just beneath your ear. His mouth lingered there, warm and seeking, but it was a far cry from the way he had consumed you before. 

“I love you, sweetheart.” 

A quiet, twisted truth between the two of you that neither could ignore in the end. The words felt hollow, emptied of their traditional meaning. But to him, they were all he had left to offer, the only thing that could fill the cavernous void inside.  

A sublime mockery, echoing in a space where love had been stripped down to its barest bones.

There was no softness in it, no light. Just a shadow wearing the shape of affection, dressed up in the language of tenderness while hiding the rot beneath.  

Love. 

A word people clung to, believing it could save them, define them. But for him, it was nothing more than a curse — a shackle disguised as a gift.  

And yet, here he was, saying it anyway.  

Why?

Because it sounded beautiful when spoken over the wreckage of something ruined.  

The words were nothing but a mask, a charade, a necessary illusion. It wasn’t love in the way others might have understood it. It was far more consuming and suffocating. A sick attachment that he couldn’t let go of, even if he tried. And you, caught in the hurricane of his need, understood it now too. 

So, at last, he held you. 

He held you because that, too, was part of it — the contradiction. To give and take, to hurt and to heal. To make you need him and to break you until there was nothing left but utmost devotion.  

His hands slid down your neck, your back, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh, feeling the way you tensed, the way your body still responded to him without question. He marvelled at it. The power he had over you. 

He leaned in again, brushing his lips against your ear, his voice low and almost inaudible, but laden with intent. “You know, you were never meant to be apart from me.” he said, the words no longer dangerous in their beauty. “You belong to me. There is no escape. There never was.”  

His breath quickened as he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against yours, his hands moving back to your face, forcing your eyes to meet his again.  

“Do you understand? You were made for me. For this. For us.”  

There was a fire behind his words, a desperate need that pushed past the facade of control he fought so hard to maintain.  

“Tell me, love…” he murmured. “Tell me you understand. Tell me you understand…”  

He held you tighter, his grip fierce now, even though you had nowhere left to go. His lips found the curve of your neck, kissing, biting, marking you with bruises that would remain…forever.

And as he did, his mind wandered again to that deep, unsettling thought. The one that hovered just beneath the surface, the one he couldn’t ignore.  

I will always search for you. Even in the dark corners of my mind, in the dreams I can’t remember. I will look for you. Always. 

Often, he’d seen them go down with irony etched into their faces — men and women alike, clutching their illusions all the way to the grave. In all he’d witnessed, all he’d dug from the dirt, all he’d buried beneath it, there was nothing sacred left. What was there in them to bury? Nothing but the weight they’d always carried like chains: pride, vanity, animality, fleeting pleasures — dross masquerading as meaning and what fell into oblivion, after having been long exposed to their contempt.

And when the earth swallowed them whole, it stripped everything away. Their names, their stories, their fragile, desperate clinging to things that never mattered.  

But one thing always lingered.  

A single mark. A stain that refused to fade. The monogram of their most intimate nature — not their faces and not their names, but something carved deeper. A work, a deed, a moment of truth that burned brighter than everything else, refusing to be buried. An exceptional inspiration. 

For Alexander, this was that mark.  

You were that mark.  

The fragile last tremble of your breath, the bruises blooming like dark flowers beneath his fingertips, the echo of his name caught between your lips — all of it etched into the marrow of his being. A monument to something both sacred and profane.  

And long after the warmth of your skin faded, long after the echoes of your voice dissolved into the silence, he would carry it with him.  

Because there are things that cannot be buried.  

Not with dirt.  

Not with time.  

Not even with death.  

When the world grew quiet and sleep finally dragged him under, he would search for you there — in the spaces between dreams, in the shadows where memory and longing collided.  

He will always search for you.  

Even when there’s nothing left to find.  

His lips found yours then, silencing any further thoughts, any further words. His kiss was hungry, desperate, consuming. He wasn’t sure if it was love or something else entirely. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

And you, forever bound to him, couldn’t turn away.  

For you were…

Released. 

a/n: The end…literally. I’m sorry if this was too much? I don’t really know how I feel about it either but it’s been in the works for a while, well, since the very beginning. Not that this was how I thought it would go but, you know, notes, and ideas, and stuff…it was mostly the smut scene that I had planned out. It’s inspired by many many things I don’t even remember anymore. Whenever I hear or see something I like I just write it down so yeah. Also whenever I explained the plot to someone they asked me if I was okay so I just wanna say that it’s not inspired by anything I’ve experienced but rather thoughts I have. And after this I am gonna stick to what I’ve said, so I’m not sure when I will post something else, but I wanted to see this one finished and it was on its way to being done anyway so…

[sturniolohohoho]

Behind Closed Doors

sweet!matt x reader blurb??

summary: you get into a fight with matt about the fact that he's kept your relationship under wraps for a year

c/w: angst, fluff, cuddling, swearing, kissing, yelling and fighting

dividers by @anitalenia here

You stir a pot of pasta mindlessly in your kitchen, awaiting Matt’s return. Looking up at the oven clock, it reads 12:32 AM. He was late coming home. Again. Scrolling through instagram, you pause at a video captioned “Matt Sturniolo is my man 😍😍. new fanfic on tumblr!!!”  

You knew it was just some random fan, but every bone in your body wanted to comment. You wish you could tell the world that he was yours, and only yours. That he was the thing you most cherished and loved in your world. But you knew that it couldn’t happen. Despite the several long arguments you had with Matt, he didn’t want to make it public.

You sigh, shutting off your phone just as you hear the sound of keys at the door. The door cracks open and in walks Matt. You walk over to him, a big smile on your face, taking his jacket and bag away. He looks tired, but the hearty pasta and a kiss will probably rejuvenate him.

“Hey baby! I made pasta for you for dinner, come on, sit down.” He gives you a tight lipped smile, walks over to the kitchen table sitting down with a sigh. You eye him nervously as you set the plates.

“You good Matt? You came home pretty late…” His eyes snap up, immediately becoming defensive. “Relax okay? I was just out, it was a really long day today.” You’re taken a little aback by his reaction, but you ignore it, pushing the feeling down.

“Well good thing you’re home now,” you say, sitting down next to him to eat. He nods quietly. “I just saw the most ridiculous post on insta, someone promoting some fanfic of you. Sometimes I wish I could just comment “He’s mine!” y’know?”

“Well you can’t.” He replies sharply. “I don’t want to have this conversation again. I’m exhausted and my answer isn't going to change. We’re not dating publicly, you’re not filming content with us.” He gets up to leave, pasta only half done. “I’m going to sleep.” You listen to him walk away, his footsteps receding up the stairs. You feel tears pooling up in your eyes and dripping into your bowl, onto the pasta you made for him.

1 year. You had been together for exactly 1 year. Today was your anniversary, and he had forgotten about it. Like a rubber band, all your self control snapped, you stood up, taking both of your bowls and slamming them onto the kitchen counter. You nearly run up the stairs into Matt’s room swinging the door open. He’s in his bed, wide awake, scrolling on his phone. He looks up at you startled but mostly annoyed.

“Wha–” You interrupt him. “NO. NO, MATT. This is not okay. You can’t keep hiding me from the public, keeping me at home like I’m just your bitch that cooks and loves when you want me to.” He gets up, temper flaring.

“What the FUCK are you talking about? This isn’t about that. I’m not hiding you, I’m protecting you. I’m protecting us from the world.” 

“FUCK THAT, CHRIS. You haven’t taken me out in weeks out of fear of being recognized. You’ve been coming home late every night, taking me for fucking granted. You know today was our 1 year anniversary, right?” You see a glimmer of regret in his eyes. 

“One entire fucking year and you still don’t care about me enough to introduce me to your online life. Have you ever thought of MY YouTube career? My channel could be BLOWING UP if you even just let me show up in one of your videos, even just a TikTok. This isn’t about protecting “us”, you’re being selfish” Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to get the words out, each one heavier than the last. 

“I’ve been busting my ass for this. For us. And you’ve been too busy hiding me away, like I’m some dirty little secret. You know what? I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sacrificing everything for a relationship that you aren’t even willing to put your full heart into. I deserve someone who sees me, who wants to share their life with me. If you can’t do that, then maybe it’s time I start thinking about me for once. Maybe it’s time I leave.”

He just sits there, frozen, eyes glazed over. You can’t tell at all what he’s thinking. You back out of his room, wiping the tears off your face. “Think about it, Matt,” you whisper, before you close the door and walk over to your room to collapse on the bed.

Hours pass by of you sleeping, waking up, crying, then going back to sleep. Your pillow is tear stained and your face is salty. Finally, you hear a knock on the door. 

“Can I come in?” You don’t respond just laying there motionless. Matt cracks the door open, walking into your room slowly, and closing the door behind him. He looks like he’s been crying too, eyes and cheeks red. He sits on the bed next to you, reaching his hand out to smooth your hair. He stays there for a couple minutes, just playing with your hair, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Baby, I thought about what you said,” he says in a quiet voice. You raise your eyes to meet him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“You… you are the most important person in my life, sweetheart.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “And I can’t believe I let my own selfishness about the complexity of dating publicly hurt us. I can’t lose you. I love you so much. I-” he chokes up. “–can’t lose you” Tears pool in your eyes as you lunge forwards to wrap your arms around Matt. “I’ll make the post tomorrow morning. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, I’ll do anything. Please”

You bury your face against his chest, listening to his heart beating quickly. You let out a deep sigh, melting into his arms. “I forgive you, Matt. I just- I can’t live without you.”

He pulls you closer, his arms tight around you as if he's afraid to let go. His lips press softly into your hair, and you breathe in his scent, letting it calm your racing heart. “I love you more than you’ll ever know,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, wiping away a few lingering tears. "I love you too," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension of the past few hours seems to melt away.

Matt smiles softly, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek. “How about we make the rest of this year the best one yet? I’ll be the guy who shows you off to the world. I’ll let you be a part of all of it—because you deserve that and more.”

Your heart swells, a mix of relief and joy flooding you. "Promise?"

“I promise," he says, his words sincere. “I’ve got you, always.”

a/n: all done!!! This is my first angst fic and I like it i thinkk. I probably wont make it a series and i dont have much to say so thanks for reading!

suggestions and criticism greatly appreciated, requests VERY OPEN <33 love youu

[red-hibiscus]

THE Lee Taemin held the flag I designed so here's a rant from a shawol of 14 years

I got into SHINee in 2011 when I was 13. They were my first kpop group and to this day they are my favorites. They've always stood out and will never be overtaken no matter how many kpop groups I listen to.

I had just barely missed the last SMtown concert in nyc and I never thought I'd be able to see any SHINee related concert (excluding whatever SuperM was). SM certainly wasn't going to give them a tour. So when Taemin announced a world tour it felt like a dream. When I managed to snag that ticket I was shaking.

I had started making flags for some artists a year and a half ago for onlyoneof's tour. Just as a silly "lmao what I give them a pride flag" then decided "fuck it I'm gonna design an onlyoneof pride flag." Then I did it for Lucy (my 2nd favorite k-music act) for two different cities. It's addicting seeing your creations be so well received by fans and artists alike. It's my little selfish fan moment of something I worked hard on be acknowledged and loved by them with the bonus of making other fans happy.

So of course I had to make Taemin a flag, and when I got the ok, I knew exactly what to do. I wanted to show his progression as an artist. So I had two silhouettes. One from Lucifer and one from Move. Lucifer (my 2nd ever kpop song after Hello) we all know is so influential. The choreo is iconic and it set the stage for more difficult choreo in kpop. The legendary practice video that had people dizzy while they stared at Taemin trying to learn it. I was there too. And Move... I mean come on. Kpop is different post Move. We know how viral Taemin went for move. How everyone was and still is absolutely shocked. The androgynous (relatively slow) difficult and sensual choreo that only Taemin can do. And the music as well!! I've seen several kpop artists try similar styles after that. So Lucifer and Move were the obvious choices.

Seeing people slowly fill up the flag while they signed it at the pre-show party was so fulfilling. All the people whose eyes lit up when they learned the flag was going to be given to him. The anxiety they got when they tried to think of what to write cause there's no going back and it's gonna be given to their idol. All the compliments I got on my design. It brings me so much happiness.

To be honest I was kind of stressed. The actual designing/drawing of the flag wasn't too bad, but getting it approved and the uncertainty that the flag would be brought out for picture time had me going crazy. But they did. He held it. Lee Taemin... Kpop jesus... The idol's idol held my flag. And he was smiling. He loved it. He looked so good. It's like it was destined to be in his hands.

After he got it I was shaking. It actually took a bit for me to process it was actually happening. And then I cried (for the 3rd time that concert except harder this time) all throughout Say Less. Probably gonna get emotional every time I hear that song now. Thanks Taemin.

I don't know what artists do with flags they get. Store them in a closet, toss them away, give them to their company, idk. For now all I know and care about is that it's safely with him and he knows it exists. Maybe he'll read some of the messages. Maybe he'll read the messages on the postcard we gave him and smile when he reads my message. I'll never know. If he's happy, I'm happy.

[dreamwreaver]

ngl it's surprising to see how many parallels from canon ships Charlastor has with. lucilith, stolitz, Millie x Moxxie (have no clue what their ship name is) and Huskerdust(not canon yet but there's definitely a few similar traits charlastor shares with it)

For a non-canon ship, it sure is similar to a lot of canon relationships

If hazbin was made by literally any other person charlastor would be endgame canon. Viv has made a couple of comparisons about what chaggie is "allegedly" like that I simply don't see. They're like Jack and Sally, no because Sally never told Jack stop being the person you are to please others she actually told him to stop being something your not to try and fill an emotional void.

Oh, they made chaggie canon because the boarders were working on scenes where Charlie is talking to her partner and they just kept drawing vaggie in there because there was so much chemistry. Like, can we see this fucking amazeballs script that had the boarders sticking vaggie in all those moments because from where I'm standing show vaggie doesn't even pass the sexy lamp test. We already know chaggie wasn't originally supposed to be canon because Proto Vaggie was paired with angel dust! So what exactly is so captivating about Charlie and Vaggie's dynamic that they're established canon and yet don't feel like it? And before anyone says "well they've been together a while so it's dumb to expect them to be as passionate as the beginning"

Fizzmodeus. I don't care that Ozzie's the embodiment of lust. Half the time we saw those two together the point of their dynamic was demonstrating how stupidly in love they were while trying to disguise it as simple sexual attraction. And just based off simple math; fizz met Ozzie after becoming mammon's heir right? That clown competition has been held every year since fizz first won it right? And by the time he quits he's been doing it for nearly 10 years. Even being generous and figuring fizz and Ozzie didn't immediately get together I would still wager based on Ozzie's protectiveness, the detailed portrait in his office, the fact that he has a first aid kit with ready to go robotic limb placements it's been at least 5 years they've been together. So in that 5-10 year range they are still so in love it's sickening and obvious enough to everyone that the general reaction to the public finding out was "I knew it!"

And before we say that it was constrained for time, fizzmodeus before season 2 had a song, and Ozzie comforting fizz after he'd been knocked out. And the entire fandom clocked them as a ship. Even if they weren't originally intended to be, like chaggie, like huskerdust too, we can see them as a pre-established couple that STILL has chemistry despite having their own lives and having been together for a while.

Ozzie flat out refused to give stolas a crystal because fizz hated blitz, was trusted enough to be given the details of the worst day of fizz's life, could clock immediately once fizz and blitz had reconciled that this was the person who had his most important person's back and could be counted on. And even though Ozzie didn't like that fizz felt obligated to continue on with the clown thing for mammon, communicated that he didn't like how so many people saw fizz as a product to be bought and enjoyed, didn't like having to be the one in charge of MAKING that product, he never stopped fizz from making his own choices, he supported his partner in MEANINGFUL ways that do not change the essence of who fizz is. He listens and offers support if not solutions, encouragement that their partner can handle themselves and they will be there if needed.

Who does that for Charlie? Who refuses to leave her alone while she falls into a pit of self loathing? Really look Charlie and alastor's screen time in hello Rosie. Alastor is very calculating, and when he chooses to speak is exactly as important as what he chooses to say.

1. He doesn't like seeing Charlie wallow in self pity, as condescending as it likely comes across we already know he loves seeing Vox with his tail between his legs and doesn't believe in Charlie's goals so why wouldn't he take the opportunity to gloat about being right?

2. While he may like to prey on overconfidence in his victims we already know Charlie would have been more than willing to sell her soul for a chance at protecting her people. She was at her lowest point and rather than striking when she was in her darkest most defeated place he chose to wait until she was good and pissed and STILL didn't ask for her soul.

I fully believe he intended to make her mad because being mad means you're more than likely to do something about it. He antagonizes her on purpose so her fire comes back. When they go to Rosie's (which, again, we know he chose because cannibal town caters to Charlie's natural communication style) he only does enough to make sure Charlie's needs are clearly communicated to the overlord and provides a tangible benefit catered to their sensibilities. And when she's fully ready to be herself he does the equivalent of putting his actual heart in her hands. He had every confidence she could convince the other cannibals to join her cause. And then again the night before they could all die; he gives her his mic AGAIN. Charlie and Alastor might as well be pre-established canon because he does all the emotional work of a partner and they work together so seamlessly even when he's doing things she doesn't particularly like she knows why he does business the way he does.

[pain-in-the-riri]

wolfstar drabble: meet-cute but it's the purge

Sigh....you're lucky I love you Karfy

Here's your birthday "drabble": a 5.6k word Purge Meet-cute I LOVE YOU HAPPY BDAY

SALT

5.6k Mature

Heartbeat pounding in his ears louder even than the crashing of the ocean waves, Sirius slams his body into the sand and against the low rocky jetty just as footsteps round the craggy outcropping of the foothills.

"Goddammit, where is he?"

Fucking Rodolphus Lestrange…Sirius should have known.

His mother knew very well what she was doing when she locked the doors early last night, leaving Sirius banging his fists against the tall oak doors of their seaside manor, all but begging (he still had some pride) to be let inside when the horns blared at Midnight, signaling the beginning of that year's purge. He didn't have long to panic— this little town is quiet and slow-moving most days of the year, but on purge night even the sleepiest places have their resident beasts crawling out of the woodwork for a chance to taste some blood. As soon as he'd heard the revving of ATV engines and the loud gleeful laughter that often fills the first half hour of purge nights (that manic anxiety and excitement of self-proclaimed predators, overconfident in those first bloody minutes before one of their own gets picked off and humbles them somewhat) he ran, sticking to the insides of tree lines and the shadows of what sparse buildings and fences were available.

He'd managed to remain unseen for hours— maybe two— and was just beginning to think that, in spite of his mother's neglectful homicidal urges, his family's habit of coming to this quiet coastal town once a year for "vacation" and to weather out the purge would end up working in his favor, when an arrow nearly skewered him through the eye, missing his head by an inch and lodging itself into the trunk of the willow tree he was hiding under. When he fled, he caught sight of them only briefly, lit dimly by a street lamp— four of them, wearing expensive night vision goggles, one holding a compound bow with arrows strapped to her back, the rest: a series of blunt and painful looking cudgels.

Somehow, they were always right on his tail, but he was fast, his legs were long and he trained cross-country nearly all his life— he had the stamina. He'd managed to avoid them until now, and, face pressed into the wet sand, he realizes that finally the sun is beginning to rise. He must have been running for hours. Still, the day isn't over until midnight, and it's hardly daybreak. He's far from safe. And now—

Keep reading on AO3...

[staranghae]

baby you drive me crazy

summary. seokmin and reader meet at a young changemakers convention because that's how filthy rich people have meet-cutes. :)

pairing. nepo kid ceo! l.sm x self-made ceo! fem! reader genre. fluff, crack., meet-cute warnings. profanity, mentions of alchohol w/c. 1.4k a/n. ah yes. finely marinated fanfiction, delicious. ( i mean this in all seriousness, this has been in my drafts since august of last year so...) song recc. unlock it (lock it) by charli xcx and jay park

seokmin really needed to start finding better ways to get out of these events. his age old excuse of "there's a really important project for the quarter due in a few weeks and i'm utterly clueless about it" was starting to wear thin considering the fact that half of these parties happen towards the end of the year when his company has already wrapped up their projects.

but then, this particular convention didn't seem like the rest. it was the annual "young changemakers" convention, his first one since he took over the company. he'd talked to a grand total of six people his age in the few hours he'd been there, and all of them had done nothing but brag about their money and wealth! not one of them seemed actually interested in the business aspect of the well, you know, running a business. to seokmin, this was better than being surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged people asking very invasive questions about his private life.

as he kept wandering about the convention, making small talk here and there with a few familiar faces, he spots you, sitting on one of the corner tables nursing a glass of chardonnay. he quickly calls over his secretary,

"minghao, come here. i need you to do something for me."

xu minghao, seokmin's secretary of the past seven years, was quite accustomed to his boss' peculiar requests. despite being the same age, minghao was far more perceptive and mature as compared to seokmin. he finishes off his glass of wine and walks over, exasperated.

"yes sir, what is it?"

"do you happen to have any idea of who that is?" he says, pointing to you.

minghao looks over at you and back at seokmin.

"are you seriously telling me you have no idea who she is?" questions minghao, annoyed by his boss' lack of ability to remember crucial information during networking events such as this one.

seokmin looks over at him, completely clueless about your identity.

minghao answers with a sigh,

"that's y/n, the ceo of l/n enterprises. i specifically mentioned her to you because she's the only person here without a family business. her company was completely built by her and her alone. also, her achievements are exemplary, she made the dean's list at harvard and is one of our major shareholders so technically speaking, she's kinda like your boss."

seokmin blinks at him. "in commoner words, please?"

"basically, she's the only one here who isn't a damn nepo baby and happens to own a good chunk of our company."

"ah! got it."

"so if i'm done here, i will take my leave."

minghao turns on his heel and leaves before seokmin has the chance to say anything. he just chuckles to himself and starts walking towards you when he hears minghao call after him,

"also, i didn't tell you this but your father has been trying to set up a blind date with her for you. something about you being incapable of making her fall for you on your own or something."

now, more determined than ever, he walks over to you and sits down across you.

"hi, i'm seokmin, ceo of lee enterprises, and you are?"

"y/n, your blind date for tomorrow evening. although i'm guessing your father hasn't told you about it yet."

he looks away, flustered. you laugh and he might as well have gotten whiplash with how fast he turned his head to look at you.

"he might've. i get quite a few of those, so i tend to lose track."

you stare at him incredulously. you knew about him from your uni days, the only nepo kid in oxford business that gave a fuck about his academics enough to make it onto the dean's list. now, here he was, sitting in front of you, looking and acting every bit the cocky brat you didn't expect him to be. you voice this thought out loud,

"i didn't expect someone who ended up on the dean's list at oxford to act like this but apparently, appearences can be deceiving after all"

seokmin visibly lights up at the mention of the dean's list. you see, only a handful of people actually bothered to find out about him as a person rather than as just an extension of his father and lee enterprises. so, when someone generally tried finding out about him, the dean's list was one of the first things that would pop up.

"you know about the dean's list at oxford business?"

you roll your eyes, "well yeah, obviously! we were required to know who we would be competing against in the industry so we had to find out about the dean's list of most ivy league b-schools"

seokmin has never admired someone as much as he admires you in that exact moment.

"so, about that date..."

you look at him over the rim of your wine glass, "what about it?"

seokmin can't believe it. he's about to ask someone out on a date. like a normal person.

"um, well, instead of, y'know, letting my dad decide the time and place and everything, i was wondering if i could take you out. as lee seokmin, business nerd, not as lee seokmin, ceo."

you chuckle at his description of himself.

"business nerd?" that's an interesting nickname to give yourself."

"i didn't give it to myself, my best friend did. we weren't in the same university but that didn't stop us from being absolute headaches to each other from opposite ends of the world."

"best friend? is it someone in the industry or..?"

"oh, he's the heir to jeon and kim associates."

you've heard the name before. jeon & kim.

"wait, is your friend mingyu?"

seokmin is surprised at the mention. he nods excitedly, looking like an eager poodle.

"d'you know him?"

"know him?! i studied with him! the two of us always partnered up for group projects because we meshed so well together," as you're rattling off about your memories with mingyu to seokmin, you remember it.

"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE! YOU'RE MINNIE?!"

seokmin snorts his soda at your sudden outburst. he's still coughing and sputtering as you apologise to the people who had turned around to stare at you while passing him tissues to clean himself up. once everything is back into the lull it was in previously, you elaborate,

"you're minnie, right?"

seokmin recalls his friend constantly calling him that when on call with him so he nods, a wave of nostalgia washing over him at the fond memories. he really needs to catch up with gyu soon. maybe he could get minghao to set up a meeti-

"i always thought he was talking about his girlfriend whenever he talked about 'minnie'. turns out it was you, huh? funny."

seokmin pauses mid-sip to give you a look that says 'are you kidding me?'

"okay, first of all, he already had a girlfriend when he was in college to whom he got married to last month. secondly, if the two of you are so close, then how come i didn't see you at the wedding, huh?"

"probably because i was the maid of honour and busy making sure it was perfect, but y'know, who cares."

seokmin vividly remembers the maid of honour at mingyu's wedding. and it was not you.

"okay, i remember that day really well and know for a fact that the maid of honour had red hair, and you don't."

"ever heard of hair dye, seokmin?" you reply dryly.

seokmin lets out a laugh at that and you become mesmerised for a moment because wow! how is a person so pretty and handsome and smart at the same time?

finally out of things to talk about, you and seokmin look around the room, trying to find something to keep the conversation going. seokmin gives up first, finally asking the million dollar question,

"d'you wanna get out of here? i'm honestly just bored at this point."

you look back at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes,

"you wanna go on that blind date right now? the food here isn't all that great and i know a really good seafood place nearby."

seokmin could really go for some seafood right about now. he nods and gets up from the table, and you follow suit. the two of you manage to make it out undetected, much to the disappointment of your secretaries, who only find out about your escapade through the headline of the dispatch article released the next day.

"Mated for life or just another fish in the sea? CEOs of L/N Enterprises and Lee Enterprises spotted on a romantic date at seafood restaurant."

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[jjcanwrite]

Under The Moonlight /|\ An ateez × reader fic

Under The Moonlight ~ Chapter II

Pairing: OT8Demi-wolfAteez! × HumanReader! (Hwa focus in the chapter (i changed my mind) with slight Hongjoong and Mingi focus as well!)

Sypnosis: It's about midwinter in the forest you reside in, that time of year where it's absolutely beautiful to watch in during the day but the worst frustration to go through at night. A forgotten lanter turns into a forgotten home, and you quickly find yourself in the tight grip of none other than Song Mingi, a young wolf in the pack you met a few months ago, who has every intention to bring you back to the pack's closing and finally keep you there..~

Series content warnings!: heavy but not dark concepts like violence, insecurities, mental health, slight depictions of gore, mentions of blades, etc - Polygamy - Eventually smut- Animalistic/hybrid tendencies e.i, marking, heats/ruts, scents/scenting, clingy behavior, growling, the boys do have tails,ears,and heightened senses, ect. - Reader does develop some kind of animal mindset after marking (this will be elaborated on later. It's kind of like a second sex but..not.)

Chapter content warnings: Slightly toxic behavior? Nothing bad, but i realise some of the thoughts they have can be seen that way. - Cranky Hwa - Protective Hwa - Posessive Joong (but not in the way you assume) - non dialouge mentions of heat/rut/mating cycles, no explicit convo yet - subtle foreshadowing😦 - chapter is once again, pretty tame. There a bit of a fluffy/cute moment with Hwa and reader tho😖

A/N: Once again! Leave any questions in my inbox and I will answer them as quick as I can ~

Sorry for how long this took to get it :( I was having no motivation ☹️

Word count 1300-1400

~•♡•~•♡•~•♡•~•♡•~•♡•~•♡•~•♡•~•♡•~

"I brought a gift.."

He mumbled smally, his voice just loud enough for Hongjoong to hear. He clearly thought he was in trouble, it was violently present in the way he whimpered under Hongjoong's stare.

"A gift?"

Hongjoong grumbled, scanning over Mingi with the sass his gaze occasionally carried. When his eyes landed on your own, they softened slightly a sigh leaving his lips as he fought of the smile that appeared on his lips at the thought of..keeping you. He knew when Mingi had scented you, he knew it immediately. And while it was a long lasting claim, it wasn't a permanent one.

Fuck..the thought of digging his teeth into your skin as he gently stroked your hair as a silent apology-

No.

He needed to stop.

He needed to talk to Mingi, and get you situated.

But..man, he really hoped he could convince you to stay with him and his pack.

His hand ran through his hair before returning to cross over his chest along with the other one. His eyes darted between your face and Mingi, debating on how he should respond to the situation.

Unbeknownst to you, but annoyingly present to him, Mingi had entered his peak of primality, or a 'feral' as they liked to call it, a bit earlier than the rest of the back, it was more common than you'd guess but- God, does it make this situation so much more troubling.

Mingi was attached to you, they all were really, but Mingi was glued.

On a normal day, a little voice in the back of his mind ranted on and on about how he needed to protect you. Hold you. Provide for you. Make you ..his.. .Make you theirs. However, in a time like this, where his only instinct was his primal one, it was the only voice he heard. And it was loud Hongjoong could almost hear it himself, but he played it off as a placebo effect.

The older wolf knew Mingi wouldn't just let you go, and there was a very good chance he would get aggressive if asked, which was defintely not something Hongjoong wanted to introduce you to right now but- what else was he supposed to do?

He honestly felt a bit lost, Mingi wouldn't let you go, and half of him didn't even want Mingi to let loose of you, but-

you didn't want this.

You wanted to go home.

To your less safe..less warm..less Ateez..home.

The thought brought a sigh from his lips, just how in the world was he supposed to get you home? It was late, it was dark, not to mention hunting season. He almost wanted to scold you for even being out this late in the first place!

"Mingi. Let her go."

A voice sounded behind the 3 of them, the familiar tones of the eldest wolf's voice echoing softly within the den.

When the 6 struggled to properly listen to Hongjoong, Seonghwa was always the one to step in before their captain got fussy.

And free you were, Mingi's hands reluctantly loosening their hold on you, not fully letting go but barely hanging on. He pouted against your neck before you took a step forward, running a hand through your hair and smoothing our your clothes, hoping to situated yourself before you thanked the elders an-

"Where do you think you're going?"

Seonghwa spoke again, an eyebrow raised as he took a few steps to stand next to Hongjoong, the mentioned man wrapping a arm around Hwa in a sideways hug, grumbling about how no one ever listened to him.

You froze at Seonghwa's command. He was usually incredibly gentle, willing to go about things calmly and explanatory before he ever got argumentative or defensive

Guess it wasn't the same when he was woken up to his slightly feral pack-mate having brought a human home.

A human he knew..

A human that smelled really nice..

A human that looked really nice..

A human that with one fleeting moment, just her combing though his rugged fur after him and San had spent a few hours playing in the dirt, had sparked something in him he'd only felt with his pack..

A human he really liked.

His eyes narrowed in on Mingi, the taller guy sinking into himself. He could practically feel the discontentment in Seonghwa's stare. His ears flattened against his head and he, as if sensing Seonghwa's thoughts, sat down and tucked himself into the corner of the den's entrance, effectively removing himself from your vicinity.

"Darling.."

The way the pet-name left his lips made you shiver, the way he said it, it made it seem predatory. Seonghwa didn't even mean for it to come out that way, but he was rather satisfied with the way it got you stuck in place. He hated being rough, only willing to indulge if it was playful, but it would have to suffice I'd it got you to listen, which Hongjoong clearly hadn't even tried.

"Why, in God's great world, would you ever think it was a good idea to leave your home in the middle night?"

The question was rhetorical, but the intrusive tone in his tone made you slightly defensive. It wasn't your fault! Without the light the bunnies tended to eat away at your crops :(

Seonghwa took a few steps closer to you, standing closer than Hongjoong was but further than Mingi had been.

"Did you even think to consider if maybe, God forbid, what would've happened if it wasn't Mingi who found you? If it was another pack? If it was those damned bears?"

He spoke, his voice raising slightly as he ended his words, his feet edging closer to yours.

There was a sharp spike of..something in his eyes, you weren't sure what, but it seemed like concern. Concern weaved into protectiveness

Announced to everyone but you, a deep protectiveness.

You sunk down into yourself slightly. You couldn't argue, you didn't have a place to. He was right and you knew it. You didn't even want to imagine what could've happened in literally anything else besides one of them had gotten to you first. You had to admit he was right, even with how much you hated being wrong.

"I-...I know Hwa..I know it wasn't smart I just-..I'm sorry for worrying you."

The mentioned wolf softened at your words, taking the last few steps towards you, but they were much more natural and relaxed then the past intimidating ones. He slowly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest and his opposite hand gently scratched at your scalp, his head leaning down onto yours, trying to distract himself from the aching urge to pressing a kiss to your forehead as you whimper about the sting of his canines on your h-

"..I know you're sorry Darlin'..You just have to be more careful. You can't be leavin' your house this late, escpacially this time of year."

He assured, his tone making it clear that he wasn't mad at you, but frustrated with your actions.

He knew how you worked by now, knew what you needed to hear before you spiraled.

His fingers gently pressed into your back, massing the flesh above your spine gently as a soothing tactic. He smoothed out you're hair gently, petting you in the same way you often did him.

"You're staying here tonight."

"What! Hwa, I have to-"

"No. You are staying here and that is final. It's much to late and way to dark for you to be leaving. You are staying here, and there will be no arguments."

You let out a small "hmp" at his words, gently headbutting his chest in protest. You knew you weren't going anywhere, once Seonghwa had made a decision it was final and the only person that could override that was Hongjoong, but captain had made it clear earlier he felt the same way the eldest did with the matter. In all honesty?..you didn't really want to leave anyways..

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Taglist: @mimikittysblog @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @mrsminseochoi

[okcoolthanks]

I got mad and sad so I wrote some vent (amougus) (jk sorry) post and I know they won’t fucking see it but fuck if I wanted to say it

g and m are people but I don’t want to say their names because idk

If you don’t want to read it you don’t have to it’s under the cut if you really really want to I got really mad and just typed it so most of it won’t make sense

Hey can I just say that using therapy speech doesn’t automatically make you in the right I don’t ducking care if your depressed and go to therapy you can’t fucking tell me that I shouldn’t be upset from having a panic attack and feeling left out for multiple days while im crying talking to you because im slurring my words and I can’t breath around my own sobs

Like I get that I knew that I might be triggered because whooaaahh substance abuse, but 1 why would you do fucking DRUGS on a holiday where there’s a fuck ton of KIDS around and 2 maybe I just thought it was fine! I hadn’t been around something like that in years i thought it was fine and it wasn’t and because im fuckinf terrified of ruining everyone’s good time I didn’t say anything when I started fucking sobbing but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be heard!!!!!!!! And last but definitely not least 3 YOU FUCKING KNEW THAT I DONT UNDERTSAND SITUATIONS WELL. MAYBE TELLING ME THROUGH CLUES THAT YOUR UPSET AND SHIT DIDNT PASS THROUGH MY FUCKING THICK SKULL, ALL OF YOU WERE THERE WHEN I GOT MY AUTISM DIAGNOSIS, FUCKING m ALSO HAS IT SO ITS NOT LIKE YOU DIDNT KNOW JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

I ducking understand that I was in the wrong to be upset about some things but holy ducking shit you can’t say that I’m the bad guy because your using therapy speech and if someone has a mental illness that they should shut up and fix it before making ANY friends when mental illnesses are a fuck ton more complicated than that which you’d think they’d KNOW because YOU ALL HAVE SOME SORT OF THAT

But NO. IM the fucking asshole for every fucking thing that went wrong and now I have to change how I walk to classes and I skip my favorite fucking class ever ESPECIALLY when it’s cold and raining outside because I’d GENUINELY RATHER FREEZE TO DEATH THAN BE IN A ROOM WITH ANY OF YOU FUCKERS AGAIN

Hell if you didn’t fucking want me around you should’ve fucking told me!!!!! I wouldn’t have come back!!! I wouldn’t have had lunch with you every day! I wouldn’t have made everyone little things I thought you’d like and I wouldn’t have tried to remember your birthdays and I wouldn’t have had hope for my future

If you were FUCKING uncomfortable with me around after I asked you out g I wouldn’t have gone around you!!! I checked in so much asking if it was still ok that I was around, I CONSTANTLY asked if it was ok that I was around you can’t fucking say “communications important!” And then not fucking communicate in a way that I understand!!!!!

I’m SORRY I’m a bad person but fuck man it’s not like I wasn’t TRYING

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Since you’re really getting into the world of Jewish music, have you heard of chilik frank ? He’s a chossid who does ashkenaz/Klezmer. My absolute fav song from him is a song called ‘Rabi meir omer’ !

Ughh one thing I love about kletzmer is the emphasis on clarinet so many songs have. It makes me want to pick mine back up and play this by ear...

As well, this is how it feels to play clarinet: